The Streets of Los Feliz

This story took place last week, right down the street from my humble L.A. abode...

[Courtesy of New York's very own Pop Stand]

So last night I worked late, left my office at 3 am, and the street is completely vacant at that hour - everything's closed, nobody's out. Except for the occasional stray homeless person sleeping underneath the side entrance to my office building, or underneath the awning of Monte Cristo, the Armenian banquet hall.

As I approach my apartment I see this girl walking down the sidewalk away from me toward the crosswalk at Melbourne. She's by herself, wearing really tight pants, and she has a pretty attractive figure.

Then I hear some catcalling, some whistling, and my peripheral vision registers a figure crouching by the bushes in front of my apartment. A male figure; he's the one doing the whistling. I assume it's a homeless man, probably drunk. I ignore him, purposefully refusing to make eye contact so I don't become an unwitting recipient of whatever late-night desperations are swirling through his head. He continues to yell at the girl, who responds with a girly, not-entirely-convincing, "Leave me alone."

I stop at the door and take out my keys. "Hey," he says. Shit. He's trying to engage me. I ignore him.

"Hey man."

I turn around. He's standing up now. He's not homeless. He's clean-cut. And his features are somehow...familiar.

"She's lookin' good, right?"

He wants my approval.

He's Keifer Sutherland. And he's definitely intoxicated.

"Yeah," I say, "She's got nice legs."

This is exactly what he wants to hear. "Hey!" he yells after her, "I need a fuckin' cigarette!"

He runs after the girl.

Tired, I don't bother to see how the rest of this scene plays out; I enter my apartment and fall asleep shortly thereafter.


I hope Keifer found that cigarette; apparently, that girl was his only lead.