Halloween Night

A brief narrative, in which our hero treks from Poinsettia to Argyle down Hollywood Boulevard on foot, and waits for his bus for a considerable time. The time: 12:15 AM to about 1:20 AM. The day: While technically November 1st, it's still Halloween in everyone's head. For some reason, I've written it in the first person. Enjoy.


My iPod died on the way down to Frank's, so it's now impossible for me to screen out the considerable amount of drunk and rowdy people who are filling Hollywood Boulevard. I keep my eyes straight ahead and charge along at my typically brisk walking pace. This tends to blow off the crazies and/or beggars.

I've just left Frank's, and I'm still a little buzzed from the vodka I had there while we watched Ed Wood. Frank had never seen that movie all the way through, which floored me, since I had seen it in the theater opening weekend with Emroy and his dad and it had been one of my favorites ever since. Seeing that movie in the a sparsely populated theater at Ward Parkway was one of the first times in my life I could look around and think "I'm surrounded by gay dudes" and be totally correct. The audience was mostly couples, and there were maybe two women. Just one of those things you remember.

Anyway, I'm trucking down Hollywood Boulevard, since the 217 bus is nowhere in sight. If I could catch a 217, it could take me all the way to Hollywood and Vermont, where I could wait for the 180 or 181 in relative peace. Still, the amount of people on the street means the nighttime trek down the Boulevard won't be nearly as creepy as it's been the other times I've done this at an absurd hour. But it does increase the likelihood that I'll get harassed. When it's 1 AM and there aren't many people on the street, everyone minds their own business. But tonight it's Halloween, and people are drunk, so tact and personal boundaries are right out the window.

Lots of people are in costume. Most of the women I see are dressed in "sexy" Halloween costumes like "sexy maid" and the like. I see a disturbing number of "sexy Snow Whites," which fills me with feelings I'd rather not have. Maybe I don't like Halloween because it is sexual-frustration-a-go-go. Then again, maybe it's because I just don't like dressing up.

So like I said, I'm racing along as fast as my legs can carry me. Despite my speed, I still get the occasional comment thrown my way. I'm wearing my Flash T-shirt, along with a suit jacket(?) that Leslie lent me for a costume I never actually ended up wearing. However, the jacket fit great and looks pretty good on me, so I'm borrowing it until Leslie decides to get it tailored to fit her. (Those who dined with me on Sunday will note that I am wearing the exact same clothes that I had the night before. I know. I am classy.) The comments I get are mostly just "Hey! Flash!" or "Hey, it's the Flash!" or "Nice outfit!" I only have time to register the comment and maybe throw a quick smile in the direction it came from before I'm too far away.

Now even under the best circumstances, I don't like walking slowly, so I've gotten pretty adept at weaving through crowds. So I'm snaking this way and that avoiding slow movers, clumps of chatters, and those who just attach themselves to the wall of the nearest building to gawk/yell at the passers by. Several times I duck out in the street and walk along the curb to avoid particularly dire bottlenecks. One time I do this a guy calls out "Look out!" and I turn and notice a car barreling down on me. I hop back up on the sidewalk and call out "Thanks" to the guy who shouted. "Can you spare a dollar?" he asks. "Oh, sorry," I say, and zip by. Not even charity can slow me down! Everyone's moving so slowly. I'm rocketing past these people. I'm the fastest man alive.

I finally arrive at the bus stop/subway station at Hollywood and Argyle, across from the Pantages. As soon as I walk up, I'm accosted by a short girl who couldn't be older than 20. Her eyes droop and I can't decide if she is drunk or if she's always like this. Two other girls watch her from where they're sitting nearby. "Excuse me," she slurs, "You speak English, right?" I am the whitest person in my field of vision. "Yes," I say. "Can you help us?" she asks. "Our car broke down and my sisters and I are trying to get to our grandma in Van Nuys." "Sorry," I say, "I don't have any cash. Just my bus pass." This is a lie, but she's lying to me, so I figure we're even.

I sit down and look around. As I do, two guys and a girl walk by, slurring ridiculously.

Guy 1: "Dudes, it's this way!"
Guy 2: "Dude, you're going the wrong way. The car's this way."
Guy 1: "IT'S THIS WAY!"
Guy 2: (following Guy 1) "It's this way."
Girl: (under her breath) "Oh, snap."

The 217 comes by, but I decide to wait here for the 180, because this is way more entertaining than the corner of Vermont and Hollywood, I'm sure.

I look over at The Frolic Room, and a girl with cute hair is talking with tow doofy-looking guys outside the bar. The girl is adorable. She's not wearing a costume, so I like her already. One of the guys reaches out and touches her arm. The touch lasts just a little too long for comfort. It reminds me of something I would do while I was drunk, which grosses me out. Maybe I'm reading it wrong. Maybe that guy is her boyfriend. I could take that guy. Him and his friend. They're taller than me, but they're doofy. And I have a vicious streak. Yeah, I could take those guys. The girl blows the guys off and heads into the bar. Yeah, you tell 'em, girl. You're too good for those guys. If I didn't have to wait for this bus I could run over to the bar and chat you up. But who knows when this bus is going to show up. Sorry, girl.

Nothing much interesting happens for like 20 minutes.

When the bus finally comes, I get on, along with about 25 other people, including the three sisters who wanted my money. I sit across from two girls, and one of them is clearly in love with the other. The one who's in love is always touching the other one (who's prettier), in a way that's less friendly and more flirty. Constant caresses, little hugs, and leaning on her shoulder. And she's keeping up a constant stream of chatter while regularly fishing for compliments ("You think I'm pretty right? Tell me that I'm pretty.") A guy is sitting next to them, and is trying to chat up the prettier one. He gives the pretty girl his number, and when he gets off the bus, the other girl says "Where's his card?" When the pretty one gives it to her, she throws it away.

I get off the bus before they do, as well as before the three sisters, who should have gotten off several stops ago if they wanted to get to Van Nuys. It's almost 2 AM. Won't get much sleep tonight. Tomorrow is going to suck.