One of the first roads you cross after you exit the freeway en route to our house is South Real Road. The day I moved here I left the freeway still shellshocked by the move and completely disoriented. I looked up at the street sign that said "S. REAL" and misread it as "SURREAL".
Aint that the truth.
It's hard to explain just how strange this place is. People drive around with giant crucifixes in the back of their trucks. Teams in haz mat outfits patrol vacant lots and no one takes notice. Working oils wells sprout like mushrooms in unlikely places, turning parking lots into obstacle courses. There's one steps from the entrance to a nearby hotel and there's even one grafted onto an El Torito restaurant. Add in the pestilence and plagues. In three short months I've grown immune to the weirdness.
So I didn't bat an eye this morning when, while walking the dogs in the chowder-like fog, a gothic figure emerged and started walking towards me. It was a pear shaped woman in a velour track suit, complete with a hood. She looked like a medieval monk from the Brotherhood of Pierre Cardin.
"Did you hear about the cat burglar?"
Who was this woman? I couldn't make out her face in the fog, just her breath as she spoke. As far as I know I'd never seen her before because I definitely would've remembered the outfit.
And... "Cat Burglar"?! I'd only ever heard the term used on an episode of "I Love Lucy".
I told her I hadn't heard about it.
"Yeah, robbery, right around the corner."
Really, I asked. What did they take?
"Nothing".
And with that she was gone, vanished back into the fog in a few short steps.
