— Our driver is a man named Peter. He is ALSO Armenian. He is very good-looking, I have to say, in a strong-featured very masculine way. He says he’ll tow us to a car place he knows of for free and take a look at our car. We are both deeply deeply in love with Peter.
— Peter drives us down Hollywood Boulevard. We discuss many things. He tells me he has never been to Armenia but he really wants to go. I say, “Did you grow up here?” “Yeah, I grew up in this shithole.”
— He points out the sights to us.
— “Look, there’s a hooker getting busted.”
— Alex grabs my arm and says, “LOOK!” We look. And there is the Scientology institute. I gasp. “OH MY GOD.” Peter says to us, “Are you guys Scientologists?” We speak in complete unison: “Oh God no. But we are fascinated by them.” Peter says, “They’re freaks, you know. They stick to themselves. They own all the property in this block – they buy it all up. And to them – there is only one God – and this is THEM. They are their own God. Freaks.” Alex and I both silently contemplate how deeply we love this Armenian man.
— Peter informs us, “And here’s where all the transexuals hang out.”
— I look at Alex. Alex looks at me. We stay silent. We wait. The magic of our relationship with Peter hangs in the balance. We don’t know what to say. Do we … divulge? Why did he tell us that? Was he trying to give Alex socialization tips? Or was it innocent? I believe it was innocent. He was just showing us the sights of his ‘hood. He went OFF on the freaks of Scientology … but he didn’t say the word “transsexual” as though it had “freak” connotations. It was innocent. Kinda beautiful, actually. So we said nothing.
— We’re at the car place. It is overrun by Armenians. I cannot escape the Armenian contingent it seems, and maybe this is a sign. That I finally need to get my ass to the Caucasus.
