Have you ever noticed that no one messes with a guy who smokes a cigar and walks the streets at night?
Recently on a very slow Saturday, I decided to take a walk through my neighborhood. I live in Van Nuys, CA. The place where a lot of things happen, and nothing happens at the same time. It's nestled deep in the San Fernando Valley and has a reputation of being, not shady, but low-rent. I won't dispute the lowliness of the neighborhood, but there are pockets of its past that has a very classy sense to it. Apparently there was a guy named Van Nuys too, which is where it got its name. A piece of trivia I also recently found out.
I'd purchased a cigar a few weeks back. Well, the truth was that all I wanted was a lighter, but I only had my debit card. Store wouldn't accept purchases under $10 (which is against card policy to shopkeepers) but I wasn't about to argue with the Russian lady behind the counter. Oddly enough, in this hole-in-the-wall mercantile store was a sliding glass humidor. Which is where I found a cigar. The quality was clearly garbage, but the presentation made it out to be something better. The prices were ridiculous. They obvious jacked up the price to pretend they had some knowledge of cigars. Or to pretend they were afficianados. Just because it says Cuban leaves doesn't mean they're Cuban. Hey, listen, I'm no expert either, but most of us can tell knock-offs from miles away. Something about having brightly lit colors on its label seems to be the dead giveaway.
So I bought a few stogies and stashed them away. Didn't even think about them, since they were pretty much garbage. I dropped them on a bench and didn't think about them.
A few weeks later, it's the very slow Saturday I mentioned. I don't have the foggiest clue as to what inspired me to do so. But I decided to take a walk through my neighborhood...
The place is all about auto repair shops, Thai restaurants and massage parlors and strip clubs. It's the industrial side of the valley that consist of train tracks and VERY shady people. It's a mish-mash of humanity. A LOT of Russian/Eastern Euros who saw America as a better place, but inexplicably make it as low-rent as the country they escaped. Peppered within all this were familiar fast food joints.
It was raining this night. More like sprinkling. And the atmosphere added an extra melancholy to the walk. I lit up the cigar and hit the street.
I think it's a strange site when you watch someone puffing on a cigar that isn't A) over 50 years of age B) Schwarzenegger. I'm a short Taiwanese guy with a hoodie. Now, I'll stop short of a Trayvon Martin reference, but it's a weird site for this town. Strangely enough, I'm really unaware how strange it is. I take the backstreets. Which is a very long path that follows the train tracks. I put in my earbuds and listen to 80's music. A contrast to the grunginess I've put myself in.
It's quiet. The streets are lit with sodium vapor glow. The lights gives the rain form and looks like distinct rays. I puff away at my cigar. There is NO ONE in back streets. There is noise from Sherman Way (the busy street). But it seems like a million miles away. There are crushed boxes in the road. I get a closer look and see it's powdered detergent that has spilled. Seems the road is getting a good wash. I continue on walking parallel to the train tracks. The silence is really nice. Anyone who lives in Los Angeles realizes you can't seem to get away from noise. And it's not even loud, just noise. It's loud how silence can be. I pass by a lot of auto repair shops. There is a car in an alley that is left running. A group of men speak in some language I can't discern. I push forth. The shops in the off shoot alley ways of the main row are so random. I see a plaster mold shop. A shoe warehouse. A paint store. One after another of me thinking "how exactly do they stay in business?" I puff away at my cigar.
Eventually, I reach a shop, that I knew years back. I'm talking when I first arrived in Los Angeles. On my first film project. Chapman/Leonard is a dolly grip house that specialized in dollies for motion picture work. I knew it was in the valley but COMPLETELY forgot it was this close to me. Walking distance. It just reminded me of my days in school. How bold I was to go to this shop and ask for free rentals. And THEY ACCOMMODATED! The building was dark. The lot was empty. But I saw their rigged trucks with extended crane support. They were really beautiful in the dark. Artwork.
Then further down the street, I came around Deja Vu. A strip club. My friend Leon and I once worked in the back offices. Which looked like converted porn studio. We had been working on some editorial things and would come across magazines promoting their t.v. show. I remember a rack of VCRs still in place. So I think they'd do dubs there too. But it had been long abandoned. And Leon and I set up shop for shooting documentaries. I went up to the main entrance. An attendant was there. "Need something?" he asked.
"I use to work in the back lot there, the offices. I use to have an office back there" I replied.
"No one back there now"
"Mind if I just go back there and take a look for old times sake"
"No one is back there" he insisted.
I walk away.
And into the night rain. Me and my cigar.
