About a month ago, my wife and I moved to Los Angeles to await our first child. We both believed that Los Angeles would have more to offer a family than New York--not in terms of culture, strictly in points for quality of life. We moved in to my wife's Aunt's house in Boyle Heights, two blocks from a cosmic overpass and one of the best Mexican bakeries in the city.
I have fallen in true lust with this swath of the city. I mean, this neighborhood is not fancy or glitzed up with stucco like Alhambra or one of the Covenas. It is the epitome of a working class neighborhood and having Mariachi Plaza three blocks away makes for interesting afternoons. Sometimes you can hear the dueling Mariachis. Most of the times, the speakers from the guitar store blare Lola Beltran or belchy banda.
We have stumbled on the Ben Franklin branch of the Los Angeles Public Library, and had our fill of taquitos at Al and Bea's. We have even had to kill some time waiting for the Ben Franklin to open and stared at the Hollenbeck police station trying to wring some answers from the post modern facade of the architecture. And, really, how large can you get a red antenna to be? The Hollenbeck police station has a gargantuan red comm sys on it premises.
Spicaresque:
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.
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1 comment:
something succint and beautiful about this
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