Dots reconnected

Usually I make it across the intersection without having to wait, especially in the morning when I'm bleary eyed and burned out, on the newspaper run before the first cup of coffee, but this time I whiffed and had to press the button and deal with it. But had I crossed I'd have missed it, the strangely wadded up green paper in the gutter, here at the junction of Citrus Avenue and Arrow Highway, magical crossroads of the east San Gabriel Valley, my new home, my new route, my new field of dreams.

Well, not quite literally most of the time, but this one instance it turned out the litter nonchalantly smacking me in the forehead was a $50 bill, Ulysses S. Grant for crying out loud! And finding money - real money, not the usual pennies and dimes - is what always tips me off that I'm dreaming. But there it was, fo' real. How or why it got there, I have no idea, and that's precisely why I can't spend it - yet. I'll get to that later.

For now, chalk it all up to the thrill of a brand spanking new environment. I'd spent the last 10 years plus in almost virtual isolation in a private out-of-the-way hovel in laid-back Claremont, refining my artistic craft while jogging endlessly on its bucolic tree-lined streets.

It all came screeching to a halt, courtesy of my crazy landlady (oddly enough on the same weekend as Hurricane Katrina), a nifty story in itself, but less so than where I ultimately ended up after a brief battle for possession of the property.

I lost, and I crash-landed in Azusa, in one of those apartments I used to drive by and go, "Who the hell would ever live there?" Well, hello!

Here's the deal. I've adapted. I've even begun to embrace it. Finding a nice chunk of cash in the gutter will do that to you, admittedly, but even before that, the jarring clash of cultures - hop scotching from serene suburbia to gritty urban spillover - had its effect.

My new corner supermarket? Superior Super Warehouse with its U-Bag U-Save "proud to be union-free" wonder world. And I'll never go hungry, thanks to the Boulevard of $3.99 Lunch Specials: Citrus Thai, Casa Jimenez, Peter Piper Buffet. I'm boxed in by a pharmacy, a used car dealer, a nail salon, a coin laundry, a liquor store, a car wash, a furniture store, two jugos vendors, two check-cashing places, two bars within rolling distance, a gas station and a Salvation Army thrift store.

"Citrus and Arrow" would make a nice reality program. A hefty woman in her Sunday best chases a man across the street while he flips her the finger with both hands; a makeshift votive candle memorial in the flower bed of the Shell station that vanishes as quickly as it appears; a toothless old man with a cancerous retch on his way to karaoke night to pay tribute to the recently deceased Wilson Pickett; an army of taxi drivers, biding their time; an ice cream truck filled with garbage.

There are beggars, working stiffs, international students, hot rodders, low riders, skateboarders, bloody-mouthed "Jackass" wannabes, jaywalkers, myriad bags of food, spent condoms and, did I tell you? Fireworks in February!

And, you know, I never got that in Claremont, that's for sure! Whatever else you can say about Citrus and Arrow is that there is rarely a dull moment. And, I've found, always a story lurking.

Like the $50. I picked it up, examined it, convinced myself I wasn't dreaming, had my roommate inspect it to confirm it was not counterfeit, and now I've got it sitting in front of me, vexing me like a sudoku or a crossword. It's a puzzle to me. How did it get there? Did someone drop it? Did it blow in from another direction? Did someone throw it through a car window? What was its story?

A one-dollar bill, that's no story. A $10? A $20? Probably not even missed. But this was a $50! Wadded up! There's a story there and I'm going to keep this bill and stare at it until I know just what that story is, even if I have to make one up myself.

That is if I don't, to assuage my guilt, put it back.

My roommate says I'm nuts. "I'd have spent it already. What are you worried about?"

Yeah, there's that. But then I thought about the whole bizarre journey that brought me here, this place where I never thought I would live, and all the quirky inspirational moments already observed, and I decided that I had to keep it, for a while, in honor of the random artistic process.

Ah, home sweet home!