Weirdness on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams

So I'm riding around Hollywood at ten o'clock the other night with my sister and my roommate. We've just eaten dinner and Barbara is taking us on a little tour of some of her stomping grounds.

As we turn a corner, I notice a guy standing in front of an apartment building. He's dressed in a white shirt and a tie and looks like a typical downtown worker coming home after a late evening at the office. But he's just standing there, hands in his pockets -- he must be waiting for somebody.

We round the corner, and I look back, out the rear window to keep watching him.

I don't suppose he expected that, because as soon as we make the turn, he pulls his hands out of his pockets, drops into a slight squat and spins a damned fine pirouette.

He's got both arms up, with his hands held close to his chest, one foot up with the knee splayed out sideways.

He spins around twice before slowing down. He brings the raised leg down and puts his hands back into his pockets.

I need to visit Hollywood more often.

 



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