The Franklin Village People
There’s nothing like living within stumbling distance from a bunch of bars and restaurants. Especially the bars.
This weekend, my 'hood (a.ka. Franklin Ave, a.k.a The Strip, a.ka. Franklin Village) had their annual street fair, which ended up pretty packed and pleasantly chaotic. I set up a booth to sell my paintings and artwork, was visted by loyal comrades, and drank a mini bottle of chardonnay surreptitiously to avoid the eye of John Law and/or the Scientology guards who seemed to be hovering a little too close (No, I would not like a personality test. Thank you.)
If Franklin Ave isn't conjested with cars, it's congested with humans.
Two choices: early holiday shopping, or selfish indulgence.
Local musicians took the stage, instead of just playing their guitars in front of the Bourgeois Pig like they usually do.
Indulging in my second, somewhat neglected, identity as a painter and shirt hawker. Yes, I am wearing a jumpsuit.
Tasty bracelets
In all, good times. Comrade Georgia bought a baby cactus from a vendor, I sold some art, and then a few of us hit Palms Thai to spend my spoils and listen to the croonings of an Elvis impersonator wearing a spangled, sequined necktie. Not too shabby for a lazy Sunday.
High five, as always,
-Alie Ward