I shoot porn in the ghetto.

It’s a pretty gnarly ghetto. There’s a mish-mash of immigrants in my ghetto neighborhood, and it’s a mixture of Koreans, Hondurans, Guatemalans, Mexicans, and El Salvadorians. They’re all pretty much non-English speakers, which makes them first-generation immigrants, and, for the most part, they’re decent folk.

Although the Korean gangs love to shoot up the El Salvadorian gangs, and the El Salvadorians love to shoot Hondurans and Guatemalans, and the Mexicans love to shoot them all up.

People in my ghetto are terrified of my dog, Maggie — especially the Koreans. I get a sick pleasure out of watching people move from the sidewalk, or hold their hands up like they’re getting robbed, or even cry (literally) as Maggie, the ferocious Golden Retriever, struts her stuff.

That’s right — they cry. As in tears. And I’ll say something like “Chin Goo! Chin Goo!!” cause that’s what Mr. Kim taught me to say, and then they’ll kinda smile — or even laugh — even though they’re still terrified.

Mr. Kim runs a junk shop by my studio. He’s the only Korean I know who worships the Grateful Dead.

This Sunday morning as I embarked on my morning walk with Maggie, I saw a white dude laying on the curb, fetal position, with what I assumed to be a white ID bracelet from the hospital around his wrist. It made me kinda sad, even though I’ve built of quit a tolerance for homeless people, and I’ll scoff at them frequently and think things like that dude makes $200 a day standing at the exit of the 101 Freeway begging for quarters while I worked my ass off all day long so fuck him as I drive by.

Maggie likes to poop over at the school near my ghetto porno studio, and, being the PC correct doggie owner that I am, I pick it up with the plastic baggies they bag my grocerys with and I’ll toss it in the school’s dumpster.

Gimme some Hippy Points for that. Some Green Points. Gimme something, OK?

On my way back, there’s Kenny, still laying in the gutter, and it’s getting hot outside, and did I ever tell you guys there’s an El Salvadorian/Guatemalan/Honduran church under my little ghetto porno studio? Or that this all took place on Sunday morning, at around 10 in the morning, as all those nice Christians were walking right by Kenny into church?

And on one took a second glance at Kenny, or asked him what was up. Or down.

I knew his name was Kenny cause his wrist band told me so. It wasn’t a hospital wrist band, either…but one from the county jail. And I have a pretty good idea that he’s a junkie cause his hands were bloated. I asked Kenny if he was ok, and he didn’t acknowledge me, and then I yelled “DO YOU NEED HELP KENNY?” cause that’s the way I roll.

Kenny’s eyes opened slowly, and then he mumbled, “take me back to jail, man.”

Then his eyes closed.

I looked up at Preacher Man, who was pretending not to look at me — or Kenny — and right next to Preacher Man stood a girl emptying out a cooler. I know who the girl is, but I don’t know her name, cause they’re shooting a mainstream movie in the studio next to mine, and she’s a PA.

Ice cold water poured into the gutter, and I walked over to ask the PA for something to drink.

I watched Preacher Man as he watched me get the bottle of water, and, at that moment, I decided I hate Preacher Man.

I got Kenny a bottle of water from the cooler.

I called 911 and they came and rescued Kenny. Maybe they took him to the hospital, or maybe they took him back to jail.

I dunno.

Preacher Man started preaching about the evils of Satan.

And I prepped cameras to start shooting porn.