Ghetto Superstar

A few nights ago Russ, the newest member of our happy compound, went outside to fetch something from his truck. The hour was not late, dear readers, perhaps eight in the evening, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference here in the demi-ghetto.

As he approached his truck, Russ was startled by loud scuffling sound coming from behind it. Is it a raccoon, thought Russ, knowing that at the moment our backyard is being terrorized by a gang of these cute-in-idea-not-cute-in-reality critters. He approached with caution (in these parts we have learnt to fear the bite of a rabid raccoon).

Yet no raccoon materialized. Instead, Russ was greeted with the sight of a small Chinese squatting in front of the truck, trousers and underpants gathered around his ankles.

What the hell are you doing, Russ enquires, and tells the small man that whatever issues he may have in life, it is not okay to shit in front of his truck. The small man seems to understand and scuttles away, bottom and balls still swinging freely in the pleasant Californian air. He moves approximately one metre, then squats down behind Jessie’s car.

No, says Russ, you can’t shit there either. In fact, he explains, it would probably be better if he didn’t deposit his faeces anywhere in our parking lot. There are at least 5 restaurants within two minutes of our house, why doesn’t he go use the restroom in one of them?

The man looks at Russ with an expression of utter incredulity. Still half undressed, he bands down and picks a newspaper from the floor. No, he says to Russ, it is you who doesn’t understand. It’s all okay – I HAVE PAPER.

At this point anger overtakes our hero Russ. He starts to shout and wave his (extremely well-muscled) arms about. The small man runs away scared, and Russ decides it’s safe to go back inside. As he unlocks his front door he happens to glance across the road, and sees that the small Chinese man has done nothing except cross the road. He lays his newspaper across the floor, squats, and poops. He stands up and dresses himself, then picks up the newspaper. He examines his poo, then carefully folds the newspaper around his prize and walks happily away down Hollywood Blvd.

I guess it was all okay. He really did have paper.