It’s like a regular Honeycomb Hideout in the back alleys leading to my apartment’s parking lot. I don’t remember many surefire exacts from my childhood, but one thing I’m certain is that cereal box mythology was deeply branded in my head and heart.
Only the coolest of kids even sniffed admittance. And if you happened to be one of the lucky few, admittance consisted of all the acid infused Honeycomb you could eat and likely molestation charges against the giant and happy Honeycomb mascot which in this case, an animated bee…
That’s not fair. Speculation was mostly all that fueled the acid rumors. But that bee, he was a nasty freak…undoubtedly.
…
I want to tell you about the crew of all stars that live behind my current apartment behind Hollywood and Highland…
Charlize is great. With a style all her own, she’ll often stop and stand in the middle of the alley while I try to pass, extend double barrel mid fingers and mumble obscenities until her inspiration expires. Thankfully, it’s often brief. Only sanity knows of patience. But again, she’s great. With her short riddled hair and crazy eyes, she’s an homage to Ms. Theron’s Oscar winning turn in a little film called Monster…and how fitting. She also enjoys taking shits behind the dumpster.
Wheels is awesome. I had this great empathy for him, and for the longest time. He has these honest, kind eyes. The sort of stranger you pass on the street who will shake your hand if only for the satisfaction…at least, it's what I imagine of his life pre the accident that made him quite immobile and put him in a wheelchair. In the past, I would find him outside the Chevron and place a couple bucks in his hand, trying so hard to make sure he didn’t drop the gift cigarettes he was also so desperately clinging…and yet, he always did. Always does. Sometimes, he slips into my parking lot to freebase a crack type substance and fall asleep with his head resting on the mini Cooper in spot #3.
Dogman is Wheels’ drug enabler. Other than that, there’s nothing much about him that excites me…except for the fact that he has, well, two excellent dogs. I would surely kidnap and rescue them from a life of poverty if the affect weren't so penalizing. I’d have to change his name to Once Dogman, which would sink the one word name motif and tempt me to re-name Charlize to I Wonder How Many People She Has Actually Killed?
Sometimes, the guy who dresses like Spider Man staggers through the alley after a busy day outside Graumann’s Chinese Theater. I imagine the work to be hard...standing on garbage cans and slinging make believe webs. Or maybe the difficult part is squeezing into Spidey suit size: Can't Let Go/Very Dangerous.
I wonder if there’s a loose understanding, that he has a monopoly on being Spider Man. I wonder what would happen if, say, another Spider Man showed up, posted up for the thousands of tourists that come to see the movie Mecca…
I wonder if I own the inspiration.
