You know that saying about living on the wrong side of the tracks? After taking the Blue Line up to downtown L.A., I'm pretty sure there isn't a right side of the tracks.
It's an interesting trip, one that Paul has made before but I have not. It takes an hour to go the less than 30 miles, which is a lot, but Paul had the car this weekend and I needed to be somewhere. The price is right; it's 1.25 each way. The train is clean and it deposited me at 7th and Figueroa, a very convenient downtown location.
I was interested to see what was along the tracks. A surprising number of churches, for one. Really, dozens. And it was interesting to see the neighborhoods change from Latino to African-American to Latino -- just by looking at the signs and the shops. I think the most interesting shop I saw sold Stetson's. I wouldn't have thought you could find one in that corridor.
When Paul first started to take the train, I asked him if it was scary. But what I wanted to know is was it suburban white guy never gets on public transportation scary or mentally ill and gangbanger scary. He said, at the time, a little of both. To me, it was a working-class crowd just trying to get somewhere. Nobody was rude or had the music on too loud or took up too much space or felt menacing. But I was traveling on Sunday, so it wasn't just people going to work.
I think if it didn't take so long, I'd be more keen to take it, but it's awfully slow.
I'll have to be content knowing I did my tiny part to help the environment, keeping another car off the road.
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