We haven’t written much about homeless people lately – not because we don’t love them. I believe the homeless are our future. And hobos are our most valuable resource. There was a cracker the other day though.
I was waiting for my cheeseburger (no sauce, grilled onions) and fries from In ‘N Out in Hollywood. Nice day. I was waiting outside. As usual: place is packed. About 100 people(The McDonald’s half a block away gave up and closed down a few weeks ago. One day it was open. Then like Miegs Field, every vestige of it vanished in the middle of the night.)
So I’m standing outside, and a guy comes out the door. He’s about 25 – skinny, blonde. He’s got the homeless/crazy haircut, but actually it looks a lot closer to that fancy expensive bedhead thing that’ll cost you an easy hundred on Melrose. Also he’s wearing some pretty cool dark red velvet pants and a polyester printed shirt that also looked kind of nice. It was heavily stained though – and in a second you’ll know why.
So he comes out of the door – and quite frankly – other than the stained shirt, I would have believed that he could have been an aspiring model or wannabe actor. Maybe with a spot of a drug problem. Except one thing that would have given it away – and that was the constant screaming at the top of his lungs. “CRAZY!” SHHEEEEE’s CRA! ZY-CRA-ZY! ! YOU’RE CRAZY! GAAH! ARR! ZZ-AAR!!"
He had a cup of some liquid with him – soda or water or methadone. And he was shouting so loudly that he was shaking, and the liquid was going everywhere; on him, on people nearby, on the bushes ten feet away.
Sparky was on a roll. He took his act uptown – from Sunset to Hollywood Blvd. - and we could continue to hear him after he was about a block and a half away.
Cheeseburger was delicious.