because we can
It has been unusually warm in LA the past few days. Santa Ana Winds they call it. Indian Summer others say. This usually happens in autumn. We will get a few days of dry heat and then it disappears and the chill of October will begin.
Dry it is. I can feel my fingers tighten up after a shower. My skin itches. Pictures on my bulletin board curl as the moisture trapped between the image and the waxy backing is leeched into the atmosphere.
Hot it is. I don't consider myself a sweaty mofo but lately, I have been emitting an odor of which I am not proud. It's frikkin' hot; it's the most popular phrase in this town. People are turning on the A/C in their cars and gasping when they leave them.
To combat the dry and the hot, the young and the restless meaning the boyfriend and I, escaped to the beach last night. Well, not so much the beach as the gaudy Santa Monica Pier. As we crossed the bridge that goes over the Pacific Coast Highway, we could sniff the fishiness of the ocean. It wasn't all that much cooler by the water. In fact, when we claimed a suitable public bench as our own, I noticed that the wind was actually warm. It was warm and dry like a waft from an oven.
We sat on our bench for about an hour, gazing at the sparkling lights along the left coast. We shared a bag of green grapes and a package of green-red-yellow-orange Sour Patch Kids. Unfortunately, the sugar didn't help us stay awake. We were both getting sleepy but I was fighting it. I remembered a time when I was single and would long for someone to accompany me to the beach on a balmy summer night. Someone to share a bench with as the stars twinkled and the sea glistened. Who cares if it's almost Halloween and the air smells like sardines.
"I want to stay here as long as possible because it won't be like this again for a while. Because it's rare. And because we can."
My boyfriend, solid as he is, said that it would be different the next time we would be at the pier. And it would still be lovely. As long as he's there with wise words and a mean pitching arm (for lobbing grapes into the Pacific) I would expect nothing less. So, I surrendered to our departure. I knew we could leave and that we would return another night. Because we can.
Dry it is. I can feel my fingers tighten up after a shower. My skin itches. Pictures on my bulletin board curl as the moisture trapped between the image and the waxy backing is leeched into the atmosphere.
Hot it is. I don't consider myself a sweaty mofo but lately, I have been emitting an odor of which I am not proud. It's frikkin' hot; it's the most popular phrase in this town. People are turning on the A/C in their cars and gasping when they leave them.
To combat the dry and the hot, the young and the restless meaning the boyfriend and I, escaped to the beach last night. Well, not so much the beach as the gaudy Santa Monica Pier. As we crossed the bridge that goes over the Pacific Coast Highway, we could sniff the fishiness of the ocean. It wasn't all that much cooler by the water. In fact, when we claimed a suitable public bench as our own, I noticed that the wind was actually warm. It was warm and dry like a waft from an oven.
We sat on our bench for about an hour, gazing at the sparkling lights along the left coast. We shared a bag of green grapes and a package of green-red-yellow-orange Sour Patch Kids. Unfortunately, the sugar didn't help us stay awake. We were both getting sleepy but I was fighting it. I remembered a time when I was single and would long for someone to accompany me to the beach on a balmy summer night. Someone to share a bench with as the stars twinkled and the sea glistened. Who cares if it's almost Halloween and the air smells like sardines.
"I want to stay here as long as possible because it won't be like this again for a while. Because it's rare. And because we can."
My boyfriend, solid as he is, said that it would be different the next time we would be at the pier. And it would still be lovely. As long as he's there with wise words and a mean pitching arm (for lobbing grapes into the Pacific) I would expect nothing less. So, I surrendered to our departure. I knew we could leave and that we would return another night. Because we can.
posted by Katie at 4:10 PM
1 Comments:
The fire, smoke and ash ain't helping either. Hey, guess what I got at my new apt? CENTRAL AIR CONDITIONING!!! Gawd, my electricity bill is going to be horrendous.
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