The Venice boardwalk at 6 in the morning is a site to behold.
Picture it. Sicily. 1942.
Actually, picture it. Homeless Hippy Armageddon!
Seriously, when I ran past the gang of patchouli scented misfits congregating by the restroom, I literally see an army of scary, undead soldiers, commandeering the bathroom as their fort.
I continue running past that scene, and narrowly avoid random, dried puddles of melted milkshakes.
Every day, without fail, people are constantly spilling their frozen treats, I really don’t get it. They’re everywhere!
Please God, tell me those are milkshakes.
I run by a random homeless woman, cackling loudly with her friend. They both seem quite wide awake so early.
I’m assuming they had just frequented their favorite Venice coffee shop. Gertie loves her morning chai and will only drink soy milk. She’s picky, that one.
On almost every bench, I see cartons of orange juice. I can only assume some deli owner turned do-gooder has brought out breakfast for the Venice-After-Dark residents.
As I continue my run and survey the scene, I see the remnants of a huge block party!
I think once the tourists scurry away (from their severe allergy to dreadlocks) our lovable Venice-After-Darkies go wild!
There are all these chairs and stools and they’re ALL overturned. Lots of cardboard boxes filled with crap, and those are overturned too.
Everything is overturned or smashed on the Venice boardwalk at this hour.
I see these two women in neon vests attempting to clean up. I find their attempts wildly amusing.
As I transition into Santa Monica, I see a complete 180. Homeless; gone. Streets; clean. Waspy women in expensive running suits; check.
I love when I’m able to housesit in Venice, it really improves the quality of my morning runs.
Very nice, small joint on Pico. Super expensive tortilla soup (at top) but tasty, nonetheless. Asparagus was awesome.