Dear Drum Circle

26 Apr

Dear Drum Circle,

The drum circle came back last night.

They like to park on the street of my apartment complex, just outside of the charming “Village Hat Store.” They open up the hatchback of their 1998 Subaru— I kid you not— and sit on the lip of the trunk and on the curb and on the pavement.

And they play drums.

At about 10:00 at night. The first time it happened, I actually walked outside to see what was happening and stared at them. Jeans, long hair, bare feet, bongos. I thought about yelling at them to shut up but in the end I was too shocked to do anything but go back inside.

I mean, the beach is ten minutes away down the highway. I might be wrong, but isn’t that a nicer place for a drum circle? Isn’t that where you go after you’ve been on a cross-country road trip to reach California? Or, you know, when you’re in your mid-20s and living out of your car and doing a lot of drugs?

You go to the beach, right, where you can hear the waves, man, and feel the sand in your toes, and just feel how vast the universe is, crazy vast, right? And not to a metered parking spot outside the fabulous gay neighborhood’s village hat shop where you can hear the nearby drag bar pumping out Katy Perry and Ke$ha at all hours of the day?

Maybe the hippies are trying to recruit the gays. I don’t know. I just think they’re going to have a lot of arguments over the proper amount of personal hygiene.

And drum circle: please, for the love of god, shut up and go away.




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