I was standing outside my friend's place waiting for him, on Rose Ave. a block from the beach in Venice, CA. I was wearing horns. Bouncing on my toes to keep warm in the night's ocean breeze. Three Mexican men singing in Spanish walked up the dark street towards me. Passing the only working streetlight I saw two old with a bottle of tequila in their hands, and one young - without. As they passed, in a moment of rare social interaction in Los Angeles, the third and youngest turned to me and we faced, hood to hood, faces beaming pure joy. As he sauntered onward, he recognized me over his shoulder, in the singsong voice of an angel: "Hola, Diablolita"
Blogging is the naughties hotness. Here I am, 8 years late. Thanks for reading.