Self-Portrait

1978

This was at 1855 Beloit Street, in West LA, right next to the 405.  Fifty feet, at most, separated our balcony from concrete, and there were no sound walls back then.  People would visit and marvel at the constant roar of the freeway, and we’d always act puzzled.  It’s amazing what you can get used to. (Six years later I would grow accustomed to the sound of the B, D, N, and Q lines barreling over the Manhattan Bridge.)

Every so often there would be a terrific screech of tires, but rarely a huge crash, which, I admit, was always a little disappointing.  Once, it got completely quiet for about ten seconds and that was the most unnerving thing of all.