Languages in LA

I found out where the homeless of West Hollywood hang out. But first, some background. Having finished decorating my new apartment, I sat down to assess my expenditures and nearly fainted. I decided, as an act of contrition for my Visa abuse, that I would declare today the “Don’t Spend a Penny Day.”

 I vowed I would not spend a single cent today. Not even a dollar cheeseburger from the McDonald’s drive-thru. Not even a bottle of tonic water to go with my gin. Nothing.

 By 1pm I was going through withdrawal, so I decided to do what I would have done 20 years ago: go to the public library.

 
Here I found them: the most motley collection of discarded people ever to fall asleep at a table. This is the West Hollywood library, people! A block from Robertson! Across from the Pacific Design Center!

The doors were smudged black with fingerprints, the tables too… a wan looking speciman of a man was on one of the computers. He typed for a moment, picked his nose, and then typed again. I decided I didn’t need to use the computer.

 I picked out a book on the Roman Empire and sat gingerly down. Not wanting to touch the table, I turned the pages with a daintiness utterly foreign to my character. After 20 minutes, I’d had enough. As I left, I saw a filthy plastic bin with a sign that read DONATIONS held on with aged, peeling tape.

This is where the unwanted go: unwanted books, and unwanted people. Those with money are over at Starbucks with their laptops. I’ve seen med students there. Didn’t it used to be, long ago, that the homeless hung out in diners and the scholarly went to the library?