Learning to Drive

Learning to Drive

I sat at my new desk and searched the internet for a shoe repair shop. Outside my window stood a trilogy of palm trees that told the story of LA. Transplanted and slightly out of place, as are most thing here, they swayed with the temperate wind oblivious to the homeless woman resting below. Behind her, an endless stream of cars lined up to pay four dollars a gallon for gas.

On my way back to work this afternoon there was a traffic jam on the 110.  It had started because a dog had been hit in the number one lane. We all honked and cursed our misfortune as the cars backed up the freeway. Somewhere not far away I imagined a young boy calling for his pet unaware that it was now a dent is someone’s bumper.

They say cobblers are disappearing because the craft is no longer taught in any trade schools. The advent of cheap industrially manufactured shoes has rendered repair obsolete. It is easier and cheaper to throw out old shoes and buy new ones. The only place to learn shoe repair is in prison. I wonder if I am the only one who finds that ironic.

I started a new job this week. It is much like the last job and, for that matter, the one before that. This one is in LA where I will spend my days cursing dead dogs and wondering if we should have a pet. It pays enough to buy plenty of shoes, enough gas and to keep a roof over my head. I think I might rent a house with palm trees in the yard so I remember where I am.

SMG

Photo by Tim Austin and he will be pissed if he catches me!