dtla

There's like some kind of bike show, or a running show.  I'm going to stick around.  I already paid for parking.  5 bucks it was flat a few blocks down and there was a man covered in a blanket with a lighter in his hand and I gave him a bag of green apples and a dollar not to go through my trunk.  I joked you'll probably get sick of apples now.  When he didn't laugh, after a moment, I said, okay give me my apples back.  He didn't want any cookies.  

So they're setting up, and this burly guy is trudging this—I don't know if that 's the right word but whatever—literally this big square bolder with one of those real thick brown ropes and I see him sweating and I go, whoa, Sissyphus!  And he started laughing—I made him laugh.  Now that was witty.  You know that was witty!  He's going to go home, and his mom or his wife, she might be husky and blond but she could be hot, too, and she's going to cook him potatoes and meat in their small kitchen and round wooden table and while the meat and potatoes are steaming, he's going to relate how some bloke passing by called him Sissyphus and how funny that guy was, how witty—his timing was superb, Mama!  He probably has a good blog, they'll talk about, and he'll slyly add more salt so she doesn't notice but Mama always notices and these are my meat and potatoes—I'm in a drought.

There's a couple food trucks.  I'm going to walk around and make myself really hungry—I don't want to blow it and sit down on some bench bloated from a bison burger while they all run past and people are cheering and I'm groaning

At the gate cheering on the food trucks as they roll in.  I'll probably just stay until I run out of cigarettes.