ArtWalk 2010 - Los Angeles, CA... walking roaming...bepopping as it may have been...my fella and I and the streets, find in LA the broadening spectrum of art, perception, and delivery.
Along the one way, except for peds, road, we find a band comprised of brass instruments and an accordian. I may have even seen a laundry lookin scratchy thing :)
Among the masses indulging in 1920s polka punk sound, we find Mike H. A band buddy and infamous famous person settling into the mounds of 4th street.
After the meet and greet and hug and shrug, we set off...now a group of 5, to find the perfect spot in this downtown square to use the facilities. You know what I mean... After many stall-outs due to over-crowding, or bad presentation...or NO presentation, we found ourselves at the same theater company I sat in before...that prior Wednesday.
Inside the LATC we quickly moved past all the bodies and headed for the elevator - 5th floor, as it was. Only we knew that because the floor was empty. Bonus for us. As we savored our individual sex-inked doorway, we came together again in the center. In result, we decided, by my musings, to proceed to the rooftops.
As it was, the elevator allowed for roof access. So why put a roof accessible button in a public elevator, if you didn't want it to go public?
We climbed stairs, saw a sign that said...if you get locked out your fuct! There was a number however, which we failed to retain, yet propped the door open with two hefty cans of paint. They were there for this very purpose. A few sighs exhaled, "I hope we don't get locked out," and off we were to enjoy the views of this new "Rear Window", and smoke and climb and draw and scoff at the little people.
We enjoyed our time. We withdrew and made for our exit, as any good actor would do.
The door was shut. Full paint buckets held it open, but it was now shut. Oh no.
Fire escape? Is there an fire escape!? Why yes, but it's old old and rusted red.
I wanted to plunge...I was held back since I was in a dress and boots...but Dennis went forth into that brave steel escape and made his way down. Scaling 5 stories! Downtown LA...yes...that was true. That is his story. However, the railing did not continue down to the ground. Oh my. We all waited...a few calls made, a few shouts to security below... Dennis returned up from down...irritated, adrenalized...ready to really get down, when the door opened.
Security scolded, my arms folded, trying to deny smiles from gleaming from my face...and made my way downstairs after a "thank you". Others from my party, a bit more curious...asked if the Security folk knew we were there, if they closed the door, if they just came on patrol...a "no, no", and "no", were replied. Hmmm a mean joke played by a visitor, perhaps? "No one was here...no one came up here." Truth, since all the parties were huddled only on floor 1.
We then hear a tale of ghostly encounters...from a guard since 1994... About how this was a bank, and below are 3 levels of vaults and basements and suffering. About how a white clothed apparition showed herself and a dark veiled one tugged... about cold and hot and energy spots and how the door to roof was shoved.
A ghost locked us out?
LA is old.
But really...a ghost, to make a specatacle of us...? An interesting conclusion I suppose.
THE LATC... circa 19ohhhhhhhhhh who knows....
Quite an adventure I must say. Before we left, the guards showed us the vaults, the bowels of this old building...we heard a slam...some cluttering...clumsy hands? Or maybe the utterings of some pissed off ghosty.
Either way...that night was fun...we locked hands and became our own "Scooby Gang" - Mike, Jessica, Dennis, Lydee, and Justin. We even had pizza afterwards. How 'bout that?