Oscar's Walk

Our hero, Oscar Nameless, who lives a preferably comfy-car/bus life, had decided, on a whim, to take a three mile walk to the bank on Saturday.

He was eager for the walk like most people who figure that God is in their favor and that the sun will suddenly start blinding them less are.

He wasn't going to go out un-prepared, though. Instead of sun-glasses (because he hates sunglasses more than a sandwich eater hates burned toast), he wore a black baseball cap. To convey his admiration for how good the day might be, he also went with the typical brown shirt with matching dress pants and black shiny dress shoes. Of all the bad moves (and let's not begin to list them because we'll run out of story before it's time), you can do on a hot summer's day, when you think you've hydrated yourself because your glass of water had ice in it, not wearing sandals could possibly be the worst one.

Oscar left the house in high spirits, freshly out of the shower, with wet hair and a smile on his face, carrying in one hand a c.d. player and some c.d.s.

The trip started off with a brief jump off a porch-less house continued by a brisk walk to the gate. He made a sharp left and that's when the fun started. He started at eighty-seventh, went south to Holmes, took a root east to Walnut, then came upon familiar streets like Crockett and down five streets to Florence passed high traffic through Mabrisa to Santa Fe, north through lonely streets until he reached the heavily populated (on a Saturday) Gage. Further down to Randolph and, finally, ended at the bank at Slauson.

Our Nameless wonder wandered through Los Angeles in a hurry. At first, he was dreaming of a better time when he could have told you all you wanted to know about trendy music. His selection only managed to not blow-out his speakers because of Zony (experts high quality sound). The music extracted him from reality, so he could concentrate on his destination and not the distance. After two blocks, a certain amount of fatigue started to set in but the effects of the blazing sun were not being felt yet.

His eyes still saw streets clearly and he could still follow along the streets with his head up and with a certain respect for his feet that kept him moving.

Then, a stop sign and a light. "Damn," he whispered under his breath. A stop didn't mean a break; it meant your original momentum was lost.

Oscar began to feel disorientated and dizzy by the time he reached Crocket and, of all things, thirsty. He took off his hat briefly to feel his hair and he realized it had dried.... In four minutes (better than a hair drier). If it was wet, it was because he was sweating. His hands were glistening from the back and he could feel them getting warmer. He was starting to look up at the people he passed with an expression of pain on his face. He soon reached a gas station and bought some water and new batteries because damn it all if the radio didn't go silent on him two blocks down the street from his house. His legs would still take him at a pretty fast pace without discomfort. He did feel a sting on his feet, which were sweating through the socks in the enclosed dress shoes.

He, also, felt hungry. He had eaten but walking was hard work, especially when you try to avoid traffic and certain streets, most of them with no shade.

He didn't rest either because the gas station smelled like fresh paint from the inside and out.

The long walk continued from then on at a faster pace, it seemed, all to reach the bank. Oscar was passing people swiftly but even his speed failed to provide a breeze. The air wasn't humid, it was hot and dry and the radio on his ears didn't help. He put took the headphones off.

With some form of renewed vigor he managed to get passed thirteen more streets and reach the bank, which was closed. The whole thing isn't exactly heroic until you take a look at the fact that he has to make the whole trip back.

The first thing Oscar should have done was have a plan. The second thing Oscar should have done was make sure that his plan would actually work and the third was to make sure the damn bank was open before he set off on a "daringly good time" of sun-affection on a possibly nice Saturday afternoon. If there was a fourth thing he should have done, it would have been stop at a shoe store, cough up the two bucks for sandals and toss the dress shoes in a tin basket because they were blinding young kids with tendencies to look at the floor.