There Is No Love In Hollywood

On the Corner of Sunset and Cahuenga

It didn't even feel like I slept. For a moment I thought that I had blinked, but the morning sun indicated that I was in a new day. I feel my cat wake up as well, she had been sleeping at the foot of my bed. "Morning Nermal". She yawns and stretches only to go back to sleep in a different spot on my bed. I set the covers aside and get out of bed. I slip on my robe and sandals and do the normal morning routine. This time, I grabbed my phone and put it in one of my robe's pockets. I walk to the kitchen. Nermal follows, knowing it's time to eat. I look down and see that she is already waiting near her bowl. I smile and give her some cat food. "I assume you slept well?" I ask. Nermal doesn't respond, she just wants her food. Again, I smile as I walk to the kitchen counters. Nothing changed in my morning routine and it seemed like I was just gonna spend the day doing nothing. I check my phone as I pour cereal in a ceramic bowl. There was a message from my employer reading; "David, we need you today. Come in at 10 am." I roll my eyes and reply with a simple, "Sure thing".

Once I finished my quick breakfast, I take myself to the bathroom where I undress and turn on the warm water in the shower. I didn't really close the door, seeing how I live alone. Nermal walked in and sees my naked body. "What? You want to shower too?" She looks at me and then just walks right out, she was not interested. I shake my head and scoff. "Whatever", I say as I get into the shower. Apparently, you have the best ideas when you're in the shower or on the toilet, but the whole time I kept thinking about what work may have in store for me. I wash my hair with a lavender and mint shampoo. All the meanwhile, I think of my current taste in music. From Nirvana to The Broken Bells, songs play in my head. Every so often I'd sing a lyric. By the time I finished, my clock read 8:45 am. With the remaining fifteen minutes in the hour, I dried myself off and changed into Dr. Martins, regular fit jeans and a burgundy knit long sleeve. I pet my cat goodbye, grab my car keys from the dresser and head out. "Where the hell did I park my car again?" I ask as I walk down the street. I recognize my car after walking down the street. It's a white Honda Civic from 2008. Fond memories of me picking up my drunk dad, taking my mom grocery shopping, and dropping off my younger sister at school flood my mind. A happy sigh escapes my lips as I open the car door. The interior is a nice beige color and smells of 'New Car' air fresheners. I get into the car, turn it on, and I wait a minute. The car stereo plays a local rock station and I lay back on my seat. I adjust my mirrors and I comb my hair with an orange comb. "Man I forgot the gel". A don't notice a man walk up to the window of my car until he taps on it.
"Aye man, help a brother out", he says as he shakes a cup full of change.
I frantically search my car for change. I find a quarter and two dimes. "Sorry man it's all I got right now".
"Thanks brother have a blessed day"
I don't think much of the interaction and I buckle my seat belt. Eagerly, I start driving down the street and make my way to my work place. On the way to work, I see the usual Los Angeles traffic congest itself the deeper I traversed into downtown. With each mile I slowed down as the morning rush hour dawned. I was half way there when my phone went off. I was getting a call from my boss.
"Hey Marco, yeah I'm on my way there. I'm stuck in traffic right now."
He only responds with a "Well get here soon, we need someone on the register".
I confirm his request and hang up.
"What the fuck do you want me to do?" I say to myself.

It was five minutes before 10 a.m. and I had pulled into the parking. Marco was smoking a cigarette outside my work place. I work at a record store in the heart of Hollywood. It's been there since 2001 and it was my go to record store since I got my first CD player in 2009.
"Jesus David, about time"
I take the cigarette out of his hand and take a quick puff. "Traffic sucks." I give him back his cigarette and walk into the record store. The place smelled of new music and plastic coverings. Indie pop played on the speakers as people walked around the store looking for their favorite tunes. I walk past the registers, through the isles of rock music, and into "The Back Room". This room is just a couple of lockers and a bench. I walk to my locker and take out my name tag and a black cap that read "Nirvana" in yellow letters. I walk back to the the main area of the store and post up at a register. To use the register, I have to put in my work credentials. Minutes pass and a couple of customers later, Marco comes up to me.