HOMELESS IN L.A. THE GYPSY LOT

When you live in your car, pretty soon you discover the "gypsy lots."  Places where people who live in their cars congregate to sleep.  When people talk about the homeless problem in L.A. they think of the well publicized images on the six o'clock news of E. 5th St.  The area around the missions known as skid row.  Nice images for the news, but the natural extension of being homeless in this great car cultue is a shadow culture of gypsies on wheels.

By and by people who sleep in their cars congregate to certain areas, generally known as gypsy lots.  Safe places away from homes and schools.  It doesn't look good.  People call authorities who are not always pleasent. They usally are problems for people who are too poor to fix up old cars, let alone things like registration, tags, warrents, etc.

On the South edge of Hollywood is just such a lot.  A large paint store parking lot on one side, a studio wall on the other.  A little shade some bushes.  What happens when you move into your car is you discover certain basic problems.  Where to eat, where to wash and how to answer the call of nature.   Contrary to popular belief homeless people do not want to releive themselves in your bushes.  They have no choice.

When I first started living in  my car, a 72 Dodge station wagon with enough room in the back to stretch out, I made the misstake of wasting time and gas driving to the beach.  Cars get hot fast in the morning when they are in direct sun light. 

One morning I woke to the call of nature, #2 to be exact.  The very loose kind middle age people sometime experience.  It was a right now demanding call, unless you wanted an accident.  Not only that, I could tell in an instant, in spite of my head ache the car was very hot.  No windows open for security.

I sat up naked in bed to discover I was surrounded by a herd of blue haired old ladies who had gotten off a tour bus to look at the ocean.  It did not matter, nature was demanding right now, no if's, ands or buts about it.  Pants and newspaper was all that left the car, while the ladies pretended to look at the sky and water.  I slipped over the side, down amongst the rocks where the river Jordan flowed and the L.A. times crumpled three times cleaned it up.


The most bizarre experience was coincidently my second strangest sexual experience to date.  (See Playgirl Advisor, Cab driver on the make, May 1981, for 1st)  I crashed around two A.M. in the afore mentioned gypsy lot.  Sometime after dozing off I was awakened by the sound of a woman crying and a car starting.  I rolled over to see.  All I saw in my window was a large set of tits.  Moving closer I got a better look.  A punk rocker by the looks of her hair cut.  Young, a little fleshy, probably big bones.

I was naked again.  I think it's sexy and it feels good.  I opened the door and asked, ...what's wrong? She was crying and was suprised to see me.  She had just been raped at gun point by a Mexican she said.  Turns out she had been shooting up synthetic heroin and had gone out for a walk and was picked up by a guy in a pick up truck, driven to the lot where I was sleeping and raped at gun point six feet from where I was at.

Well what are ya' gonna' do in a situation like this?  I got up, got some clothes on, put a top on her 'cause her tits were distracting.  It had been a long time for me.  I got her in the car and took off.  She wanted to know where I was going.  the police of course.  No way, not for her.  She had needle tracks and no I.D.
Not only that she was a singer in a punk rock band and was scheduled to be interviewed in the morning by a magazine who coincidently had just canned me.  I told her it wasn't her day.

We ended up at an all night diner across the street from her motel.  She knew I slept in my car. so asked if I would stay with her.  I figured she was afraid.  Why not I thought, it's the least I could do for her.  Maybe I could catch a shower and, no I pushed that thought out of my mind.  Not a woman who had just been raped.

She went first.  Five minutes later I followed.  If the Chinese night clerk had not been arguing with some pimp I might not have got pass the window.  But I did.  When she let me in all she had on was her panties.  I started to sweat.  This woman had just been raped, she couldn't want more. I had never heard of that before. It had been a long, long time for me.  I still remembered pussy.

Well the truth is I lost control and started kissing and fondling her.  She responded.  Within minutes we were out of the shower and into the bed with legs in the air we made the double back beast more than once till dawn, then slept till noon.  After which I got up, squeezed her tit, kissed her good bye, said thanx and walked out the door.

Strangest experience, driving down Sunset Blvd, wondering if it was a dream.  What a way to end a sexual dry spell.

Think thats the end of it.  Not hardly.  A month later, same lot, other corner.  I'm just dozing off when a car parks next to me.  Not again.  I'm lying low and facing away so they don't know I'm here. Over my shoulder I can see a young black chick and an older white guy.  They're talking.  Then they get out of the car.  I'm praying nothing happens.  I don't want  to have to jump out into the cold of the night naked and do battle with some sicko who's punching out a little black whore.

They come towards my car.  I hope they don't see me.  They go between the cars to the back.  He lifts her skirt, drops her panties and sticks it in her.  Then he starts humping her with me watching.  Wap, wap, wap.  A few minutes of that, a few grunts and groans, sighs and moans then they leave me alone.

A guy couldn't get a decent nights rest anymore.  I didn't park there after that.