Will He? Won’t He? Who Cares?
This was in the early spring when Mr. Vera’s off-again, off-again, partiallly on-again pronouncements about his candidacy were so frequent as to nearly cause an eclipse of the sun. Eventually, he decided against running. Never far removed from his next rhetorical flourish, Mr. Vera said it was of scant importance that he would be out of office in several weeks. He did not need the stamp of elective office to carry out the responsibility of any heroic resident. By thunder, he would make time as a recently re-minted private citizen to carry out his final City Council obligation. Somehow, he would shoehorn into his weekday schedule the time to visit these mysterious lots that were presumably eager to accommodate nocturnally homeless recreational vehicles. I have been unable to confirm a report that on an excursion to one of those nebulous vacant lots, Mr. Vera intersected with O.J. It seems Mr. Simpson was crawling along the ground, searching for a magnifying glass he dropped while hunting for his wife’s elusive killer. Is it possible the killer is hiding out under one of those equally elusive vacant lots? Let’s see. No one ever has seen or heard of any specific data regarding Mr. Vera’s lots. No one ever has seen or heard of any data regarding O.J.’s self-created killer. Hmmm…
Postscript
If the truth can elbow its way into this conversation, for the sake of the owners of recreational vehicles, I am pleased that Vera Promise No. 462 also wafted into the clear blue skies, unmourned. Of all the people in this community who can afford to park their vehicles miles from home every night, RV owners are at the bottom. I never have known an RV owner who wasn’t working class. It was sweetly ironic that this probably ill-conceived policy decision — compounded by Mr. Vera’s unkept promise No. 462 — was reached days before Culver City residents sat down to enjoy their Christmas turkeys. A dead bird is a fitting monument to the decision and all the hot air that followed.
