The Wand, Courtland, Haskell and Carlton. There! There is where I live. Who would have believed? Palmer House, 538 South Wall Street is my address. I thank my Creator; maybe now I can start getting rid of my stress. Wall, Maple, Los Angeles, Main and Spring Streets saturate with odors of reefer, urine, feces and beer. My nostrils wrinkle because the stench I could not bear.

On 5th Street, I am pacing my gait with more speed. Education and employment I know I need. My lens zooms in like a microscope. I study neighborhood, the truth I had to deal with and cope. Their faces turn a dull grey while their nooses get tighter by their own ropes. My soul shrills, “Can’t they see their bones are decaying from that damn dope!”

I have to stay positive. I have to have more motives. I have to make sure I pay my rent. “I lost my damn job!” I vent. Section 8 assistance, praise the Lord. I can do the distance. $360, $196, $45 and back up to sixty-six: Fred Jordan, Los Angeles and Union Rescue Mission give me hygiene kits. I can’t afford to be negative. I can’t afford to be too sensitive. $216 down to $199 and $104 up to $110 in food stamps; they are on my GR pick up date. I can’t swallow this fate. I do not desire to be on General Relief. An actress, an author, a model and a singer I so desire to be; that’s my belief.

Back in my spacious room, I refuse to sense my doom. After, I carefully deliberate. I mail, e-mail and fax resumes. Yes! I am Queen, Princess and Dame fighting to remain motivated. My soft lemon color scented sheets are clean. My mirror and TV are wiped with Windex which creates a certain gleam. I lay on my fluffy-cloud-captain bed. Dreams of my poetry manuscript being published: Now, my abdomen is fed. I get up and put on my Pro-Keds.

My camera shutters are removed. My cerebral hemisphere overloads, saying “Moo! Moo!” Like a fat cow, I take pictures. I view details and certain features. I see street sweepers making an effort to sanitize the streets and eliminate the stench. I even notice the numerous bus stops with new pickle colored bench. I want to bellow, “Free clothes and food are right here!” They are compassionate people who sincerely care. Let me be your tour guide. Please, don’t ponder it’s no jive.