I'm tired, but I want to write this.  So many posts have been lost because I put them off for a day.  And then another day.  And another.  That's what happened with the P4A night.  I really wanted to recount it bloggularly because it was such a fantastic evening, and then I let it go too long and now the essence of those feelings – I just would not be able to explain the night with the justice it deserves.  But let me tell you what happened today.

Today I went downtown.  Arrived in the afternoon, hung out until evening.  I was walking back from Spring Street.  I like to sit around in the cafés there.  Anyway, yes, so walking down 7th.  Which is one of the less-sketch streets, I would say, if you want to get back to Figueroa.  If you're having trouble visualizing what I'm talking about, just pull up downtown Los Angeles on Google maps.

Okay, walking east on 7th.  Got my headphones in.  And I see this guy a couple paces in front of me – he's holding up a bottle of Sprite.  And then he's dumping it on some girl's head.  At first I think, did this wacko just pour Sprite on a complete stranger?  Because the girl was completely ignoring him.  I imagined myself as the victim.  How would I react if some random guy came up behind me and poured soda over my head?  Would I ignore it to avoid confrontation?  Just keep walking.

I was catching up to the two of them, and it turned out that they must have known each other.  Some argument was brewing, and other people on the sidewalk were darting out of the way as the guy lunged at her.  It crossed my mind to ask the girl if she was okay.  If I was being harassed in the street, I'd want someone else to interfere.  But then I don't want to get involved.  What if this guy lashes out at me?  I didn't know what the situation was.  I didn't know what would happen.  So I put my head down; I kept walking.  I passed them.

I was hardly a block away when the screaming started.  I turned around, but there were so many people behind me that had also stopped.  But everyone seemed to be looking.  No one seemed to be helping this poor woman.  Who kept screaming and screaming.  I guess maybe the guy had grabbed her or threatened her or something?  Were they boyfriend and girlfriend in a fight?  I don't know.  But the next thing I saw was two policemen with guns running across the street.  And then the soda-pouring guy was on the ground.  Guns were pointed at him.

And it was.  I dunno.  I mean, I had had a pretty good day downtown and then this happens and it just shakes you up.  I was upset because I didn't help the girl.  Even though it was probably best that I stayed out of it.  But that's what every other person on the street must have been thinking too.  Just stay out of it.  What if the cops weren't right there?  Would we all have let this woman be assaulted in broad daylight?  All of us walking by, scooting out of the way of the commotion?

I know this happens everywhere.  But I can't help blaming LA for—for what?  For making me behave this way?  For having people that will not stop to help someone?  I dunno.  This was just a thing that happened that I didn't want fading away.