Amazering

Yesterday afternoon for a wee bit of time I drove Elly and Ozzie and the puppy around so Elly could take pictures of the Macarthur Maze for one of her first projects for graduate school, which involved negative spaces that make a space more of a space or something like that, and which also involved transportation systems I believe, so we went around Oakland on freeways and streets taking photos of the maze.

In case you do not know, the Macarthur Maze is a section of freeway in Oakland where the 980/880/580/24 all conjoin and meld and separate. It's really stunning, actually.



I suggested to Elly that we stop at this rather incredible little park that has freeway columns extending into the park grounds. It's right next to a house I used to live in for 2 months before I was chased out by men grabbing my body and calling me "white bitch" every time I walked to the Bart. Anyway, this park is where I'd take Ozzie before 8 a.m. to get her morning walk, before the crackheads were circling like twitching vultures and before the gangbangers were standing on the corners, ready to draw a finger across my arm as I walked by.

Man, which reminds me, one time my ex was walking with me when this happened and he didn't say a fucking thing. It made me incredibly angry on so many levels. I jerked my arm away from this guy's fingers and glared and my ex gave a startled glance and picked up his pace.

Anyway, as we pulled into a parking spot yesterday by this park I said, "Yay! No one's here!" But then as we hopped out of the truck, I sighed and said, "Oh wait, no, there are four crackheads over on that picnic table."

Still, we hopped out and Ozzie chomped on a chicken bone ("At least she's not eating needles," Elly sagely observed) as Elly took pictures. At one point I looked over and saw that one of the crackheads had removed his pantaloons and was baring his ass to us, in some sort of gesture of anger or challenge (sorry, I'm not up on ass-language, must remember to review). I noticed that his ass was covered with some type of white lesions.

Shortly thereafter, a woman walked unsteadily towards us yelling, "You can't take our pictures! It's illegal!"

"Let's get out of here," Elly said. We flew like the wind. "You can't take my picture! What's your name?" she squawked, her limbs flopping gracelessly and her popped-joint stride bringing her ever nearer.

"She thinks we're cops," Elly said, as we pulled out. I rolled down my window and advised the group to "Get off the crack," which I immediately felt bad about. Elly reassured me that I had nothing to feel guilty about, since they had yelled at us and shown us their withered buttocks.

"Do I look like a cop?" Elly asked.

"Totally."