Where I Rest My Head Essay -- Descriptive Essay, Descriptive Writing

This is the area where I rest my head. Im not endowment in to calling this home because home is where the heart is. I stand firm in the court district of downtown Los Angeles. With the influx of the Yuppies, however, it is now called the historic core, We are standing on the command of Sixth and Broadway. On the southwestward side of the street heading east there are only when two office buildings, yet there are many shops. The world-class is a jewelry shop. Walking past, we find two clothing stores that give away inexpensive womens clothing. There is a nearby market owned by a brother and sis from Iran Ben and Miriam. When I do purchase there, I often haggle with Ben and he will come down on the price of the item in question. Im more acquainted with Ben than his sister since he, same(p) me, is something of a jokester. Besides, he is much more honest than his younger sister who is so shrewd she would snatch the nickels from a dead mans eyes difference the market we pass a g ated alleyway and a little hole-in-the-wall of a store owned by a Korean family. I ordinarily purchase breath mints and gum there, only that is all. They sell little knick knacks and betting odds and ends, but their main source of income is alcohol--they sell enough to get a small country drunk.Five more paces and we are at the foyer entrance of a residential building where I become lived since my parole, but that is another essay. As we pass the lobby we come to the Alta Med Health Center, work by an extremely helpful and pretty woman named Rosa. When I set out the time, I drop by to shoot the breeze and trade jokes and anecdotes with her. pay off next to the health center is a shoe store owned by an aged Chinese couple, still trying to hold on to their long gone youth. Both dress fashionably y... ...r refurbished goods. Reaching the corner there is a coffee shop, owned by an old Korean woman. When I began my first semester at LATTC I would stop there and haul a cup of Jo e. After a few weeks of seeing me on a constant basis, she began to question my coming and going. I explained to her, I am a student. To which she replied (in broken English), You good boy. Being diplomatic, I move to explain the politics of referring to a grown black man as boy. Either not understanding or not caring, she chose to persist to refer to me as boy, so I stopped patronizing her shop.This ends our electric circuit through Hell. Its funny. I kind of like this area because it reminds me of New York, but it lacks that savoir-faire. Its more like New York meets the third world, or what would have happened had the Spanish, and not the English, taken New Amsterdam from the Dutch.