I drove through Hollyweird (Hollywood) in record time, and finally found a parking spot. If you have ever been to the area around the Sunset Strip, you know how congested with oddness it is.
As soon as I got out of my car, I saw the dwarf astride a pink stingray bike. He had on a Viking helmet with horns, and the horns were painted pink!.
The prostitutes were obvious, and they wandered the Boulevard in search of their latest customer. My heart went out to them. One could read the hardship in their eyes. Some of the young ladies were about my daughters' ages, and my stomach knotted in fear for them.
It is so hard to fathom how a person gets into this line of work, but I can bet... Most of these females (and a few young men) were struggling with drug addiction, were probably disposable in past relationships, and thereby suffered low self esteem. It was apparent to me, they were society misfits, and they picked (or were picked) an awful way to survive.
It didn't make any sense to me, but they were as constant as the traffic. Having worked in LA for many, many years, I saw them, always there... Morning, noon and night. The faces changed often, but the numbers never did. I hurried past them on my way to the nearest cafe. I wanted to get there in plenty of time to settle in, before my appointment arrived.
Nearly tripping over the flowing train of a trannie (transvestite), who chose to skip down the street wearing a fluffy white wedding gown, I made it around the corner, and into the cafe.
It was a relief to find a corner table-away from the hustle bustle of the street noise. I ordered a plain black coffee, and took a look around the little establishment. It was filled with the usual, Monday morning, Jack and Jills. All of them... Slurping away on their caffeine drinks, hoping for the Java jolt to wake them up, and quickly.
By the looks on some of their faces, I could see it would take more than a morning Java to get them functioning again. The junkies were so easy to spot, and I could see demonic entities sucking on what little life they had left. It sickened me, and I could feel their internal clock ticking down. The ones in here, they were too far gone to help.
I stared at the blackened areas around them, and shuddered. The laughter and joy coming from the demonic... It isn't a good sound. It is a gleeful sound of success. When I hear it, I try to shut it out. I want to break into tears knowing another Soul, has given up. Some give their Souls with abandon never thinking about the consequences. They drown their choices in booze or drugs, and don't think about it again.
When I see them, it is like looking through a hollow tube. The Soul is chopped up into big holes, and it is being occupied by the obscene. The bad ones (Demonic, and dark entites), come and go from the lost. The outcome is what you see before you, a gaunt, bloodied, dying human body. They are usually dirty, dishevelled, with clothing hanging off their wasting away frame. Then, the smell hits you... It is the smell of imposing, lingering death.
By the time a person gets to this point, there isn't anything I can do for them. It is up to them to fight back, regain, who they once were, but it doesn't happen very often.
Sitting in that little cafe, I tried to sit quietly, but my eyes were following the paranormal activity around me. I saw the ghost of an overly emotional elderly woman, tugging away on the skirt of a young woman. Of course, the young woman was blissfully unaware of her elder relative, probably a Parent or Grandparent, pulling on the hem of her skirt.
In the coffee line, a gentleman in a plaid tie was conversing with a middle aged businessman. I could see there was another ghost. He was whispering in the ear of the man with the plaid tie. The middle aged businessman looked annoyed, but I couldn't hear what they were saying to one another.
At a table across the room, I felt the energy of someone hidden in the shadows. An old partition stood as decor, and I think the entity was staying out of sight. I knew he/she was there, and I watched to see if it would show itself. It didn't, so I moved on... And my eyes roved the other side of the cafe.
A purple tutu caught my eye, and I looked into the face of a Spirit person sitting on the floor next to a forty something female. The woman on the floor had dropped some paperwork, and was trying to scoop it up and place it back in order. The purple tutu, was worn by a fifty something (how he appeared to be seen is an individual choice) ghost man. I saw a very hairy man in a sleeveless, purple leotard. The tutu was vibrant purple, and jutted out in expensive tulle. It had to have been a specially made tutu, because the gentleman showed himself to be quite heavy set.
This was one of the strangest visitations to date, and I watched to see what would take place next. Of course, a waitress finally came to refill my cup, so I took a moment to smile up into her eyes. She didn't smile back, so I mumbled a "thank you' and looked away.
The table next to mine was vacant, but a young, ghostly woman in her teens, sat in one of the seats. She was quiet and stared straight ahead. Her hands were palm down on the table top, and she didn't move. Her hair was perfectly coiffed, and her clothing screamed the sixties. The bright colors and ratted hair, heavy eyeliner, she was a picture perfect example of model thin, for that period.
She looked briefly at the open doorway, and then faded away. I think this was a residual haunting. She didn't look at me, or seem to notice anything around her. The cafe was an older establishment, so it is very possible for it to be residual in nature.
I looked over at the doorway and wondered who she had been waiting for... Was it a lover?...I would never know. My appointment walked through the entrance and headed to my table...
As he sat down, and we shook and hands, I glanced at the smiling ghost behind him. I smiled back...