The Date with Exiled Royalty Continues: Lost in The Crenshaw District of L.A. (Not a safe place, in case you didn’t know.)
(You can read the previous post about my date here: Flirting with Disaster: Dating Exiled Afghani Royalty . Trust me, it’s true.)
Not even Starbucks, which is EVERYWHERE in the world, dares venture there. (They weren’t there then, but they may be in the area now. I hear Starbucks is going to take over the world by winning the Franchise Wars.)
Picture this: A darkly lit and filthy street, bordered by run-down and abandoned warehouses covered with graffiti and broken windows, and shiftless people (who hopefully don’t read this blog) lingering on street corners.
In the middle of this: A flashy, shinny black Mercedes driven by an older, well-dressed gentleman wearing a flashy Rolex. Seated next to him is a tow-headed white gal (that would be me) dressed in a suddenly-too-revealing little dress. Also flashy.
There are no other cars – parked or driving – on the street. There are no hookers on the streets. Not even hookers want to be here. But, wait! There’s more…