The same day, I hit a drugstore for a prescription. “Fifteen minutes,” said the pharmacist. Since it always takes at least half an hour, I walked outside, where I had spotted a blind beggar squatting. I grabbed his Styrofoam cup, which contained 87 cents, enough for a can of cheap beer. I purchased the beer at the adjacent liquor store and was standing in the parking lot drinking it, when I saw the pharmacist waving at me through the glass. My drugs were ready. It had been 15 minutes.
Another time, exiting a convenience mart, I found a shabby dude in my face. “How about two bucks?” he shrugged. “I’m that much short, and I’m not gonna tell you it’s for food. If you cut me the cash, I’ll jump right on a bus to MacArthur Park and score a nickel bag of heroin. In 15 minutes, I’ll be high.” I peeled off the bills, and he was gone.
It could be that these were coincidences. It could be that I’ve gotten lost, and I don’t know what time it is anymore. But I don’t think so. I think that people have just gotten tired of lies.
On Thursday, April 1, outside St. John of God Church in Norwalk, thousands attended memorial services for singer Adán Sánchez. Known as “El Compita” (Lil Buddy), Adán was just 19 when he died March 27 in a car accident in Sinaloa, Mexico, the same state in which his father, legendary singer-songwriter Chalino Sánchez, was killed 12 years ago. Adán’s wholesome lifestyle, energetic smile and, above all, humility, made him a beloved figure in the Los Angeles Mexican community. He will be missed, but his spirit and music will live on: ¡ArribaAdán y Chalino Sánchez!