NO SAINTS IN L.A.

She keeps placing the five dollar sunglasses on her face, turning to the rest of us in line, and saying loudly with valley-girl whine, “They’re so cute right?!” Her blond hair swishes back and forth and she calls the checker “babe.”

“I used to pay $700 for sunglasses but I’d buy a 1,000 of these, I mean at five dollars…it’d be like…(kind of mumbling, doing the math in her head)…anyway, the recession..RIGHT?!” She shuffles in her five inch patent leather shoes, barely clothed in a black top with slits up the sides so deep, I can see the whole of her back to the top of her g-string. Just a two inch strip connects the garment in the back, it slides from the top of her neck and drapes low at the bottom. She must be freezing in her tiny shorts!

Though her body confidence is enviable. I’d never wear anything so…revealing.

She’s buying a six pack of corona, cigs, glasses and something else I cannot see alongside her mohawked boyfriend, who seems to have forgotten his belt. His pants are sagging to TMI limits and he looks tired. I’m not sure these two have gone to bed.

It’s 8:00am on Hollywood Blvd at CVS.

Sometimes I just love this town for its drunken, skanky eccentricity.

On my way home, I have to pass by the couple, and I watch them as they stagger down Hollywood, taking photos of each other and laughing, just having a great time.