Chinatown | March 2006 | Copyright 2006
02/22/2009
4:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning. I wake up to the sound of... what? What is that? Yelling? A loud, drunken discussion? A party? Is someone fighting? No. It’s rap. Someone is rapping. Someone is rapping very, very badly. So terribly early on Sunday morning.
6 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. Bus stop. I tiptoe past the homeless man so as not to disturb his slumber. A car pulls up to the light, stereo bass booming. Loudly. Which wakes up our homeless friend. Who then proceeds to giggle and incoherently chat up every female at the bus stop. So terribly early on a Tuesday morning.
7 p.m. Any weekday evening. I relay my stories to my husband. “Burned out on the city, honey?” he asks. Why, yes. I do believe I am.
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