After my curious friend left to go swimming with some others, I turned my attention to this group of birds hiding out from the horrible Hollywood sun in the shade of this tree. These first two didn't care to have anything to do with me and also opted to go into the lake. But that inquiring bird in the back wanted to see what I might be up to.
Look at the colors and patterns on this bird with violet legs and brown raccoon eyes. It approached me appearing nonchalant, but I could see it peering at me from the side.
It turned and looked directly at me. Doesn't it look like it's cocking it's head?
So, it stood there and let me have a good look. I opened up the lens in an attempt to get more detail. It looks like a Dickens' character or Peter Lorre (buried in a nearby mausoleum) wearing a frock coat. It needs the top hat.
What a face! Look at those Lucy Ricardo lips, that Bob Hope snout, the Mae West dimple it calls a nostril, that Lone Ranger mask, and that Roy Earle haircut. That bird's all Hollywood.
After this bird left me, I decided to move on. I said goodbye once again to John Huston and Darren McGavin. I waved across the lake to Virginia Rappe, that poor lovesick sucker buried next to her who paid for her grave, Chaplin's mother and Tyrone Power. I got back in my Mercury. Opening the door and sliding into the seat, I felt like a juicy calzone being shoved into a pizza oven. I could've not closed the windows and kept the car open to the winds and thieves, but then I wouldn't have been able to lose myself amongst the stones. After driving through the Jewish section of the cemetery, I drove out the Gower street exit and headed north towards Sunset. At that point, I wanted air conditioning, a bookstore, and a martini, not necessarily in that order, but that's what happened. More on that later, that's Part Seven.
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