The Spirit Of LA

Midway through life's journey I found myself in a dark alley, for I had forgotten which parking lot held my vehicle.
   In Hollywood was I, after midnight, when the freaks emerge to do their freakish things and honest citizens flee to their homes. Certain that I had parked down a side street I ventured thence, only to discover by my twistings and turnings that the clear path eluded me. Vile odors of body fluids assailed mine nose as the alley I traversed had clearly been used as toilet, vomitorium, and bordello. Perhaps all at the same time.
   I spied a junkie, strung out as was his wont, bracing himself against the wall, his clothes and demeanor two weeks unwashed. Hard upon that a pimp did swagger forth, ostrich-plumed cap large and emerald, and behind him staggered his soiled dove, no doubt looking to sell her favors for the promise of silver.
   Turning to make my escape I encountered a shadow, the odd form of a person where I had just passed, though I had seen him not before. 'O apparition,' said I, 'if you be friend aid me now, and if you be foe please show mercy.'
   He(?) emerged into the street light, slender to the point of emaciation, clad in patent leather rainment that in other circumstances might have been part of a gimp outfit. Work boots he(?) wore, scuffed and worn, and a Raiders jacket, with a cap turned sideways. His(?) face might have been from the Orient, or perhaps a swarthy inhabitant from below the equator, but had been so extensively altered by surgeons that his(?) origin could not be determined, nor could his gender. He(?) gestured behind himself to a food truck I had not seen before.
   'I have come to guide you through this inferno,' he(?) said, and even his voice sounded genderless, 'though too late I cannot tarry, for I have an audition in the morning.'
   Behind me the pimp approached, smacking his bitch upside the head. Behind them the junkie stood upright, his eyes now full of chemical fury. I turned to the genderless abomination before me, choosing the lesser of two evils.
   'Let us be gone to yon food truck,' said I, hurrying towards him(?). 'Of many questions I have let this be the first: what manner of being are you?'
   'The Spirit of Los Angeles am I,' he(?) said, bowing as if he were on stage. 'It is appointed to me that I be your guide out of this abyss. Mine own reality show shall be my reward.'
   'Let us make haste, then,' said I, leaping into the food truck. 'Does this conveyance vend tacos?'