Mourning Sixth Street Bridge.
Grabbed days to hike in Sequoia - a poem - story to follow.
No equipment at REI everyone expecting local snow- wrong- Drove route around Los Angeles to Burbank Sport Chalet. On the return trip, dread grew approaching the intersection of Interstate 5 60 and 10 Freeways. The crowded part where traffic slows at the Brewery made me hold my breath as if in a tunnel wishing. I moved forward in my seat to view a pile of rubble. Thought about taking pictures, did not, I grabbed rocks. Display them as relics, Holy Foreskin in a vitrine.
You think that sacrilegious before Easter. It is not. I will have them blessed when I'm back.
In 1983 I lived above LACE on Industrial Street. L.A. now has a District name for everywhere. Art District, K- Town for samples. Back then Little Tokyo didn't have condos or fancy hotels. I drove a 1970's Corolla with no radio and a bit of bondo- nothing worth stealing. Sunny days I rode my bike across the bridge to work in Boyle Heights. After painting at night for hours I met friends for a night cap at Yee Mee Loo's, also gone to rubble.
You think it strange for a tiny girl to ride about. It was not. I carried a permit to pack.
Is nothing sacred or beautiful? Could we not have bolstered it up with patches of wire and
called it a pedestrian path? The Walking District. The bridge connected East Side to the Fashion District (glorious name for seedy Santee Alley) and the shrinking Flower Market.
Aren't there jobs there? Maybe not important. I miss the 6th Street Bridge.
Who gets that bronze plaque?
