Downtown Culver City is a place that can be heard. It is loud in its life pulsing through the small stretch of Washington Blvd and Main Street. As soon as you enter the city you can hear it. You can hear the middle aged businesses people as they walk down its wide, clean sidewalks, loudly debating housing prices in Calabasas.The production assistant who is holding a yellow manilla envelope, who taps his foots over and over again to the beat of the street lights which counts down the time until he can hurriedly walk across the white hashes of the crosswalk. The cry of excitement that is issued from somewhere down the street as someone sees a famous celebrity walking into their favorite restaurant. The large black Equinox building filled with fitness influencers and middle aged working people running endlessly on the treadmill, whose footsteps ring in your ears as you walk by and the door swings open revealing a small, white women in Lululemon yoga pants and a small, bright pink smoothie in her hand. Her small slurps from the paper straw can be heard for a block, before she turns into one of the parking garages. You are hit by the endless sound of construction which rings in your ears, as the men in bright yellow reflective vests drill into the uneven black street, marking the expansion of the area. The commanding instructions from the Culver City Hotel host which directs people around the chain link fence that hides away the progress of the construction workers from the pedestrians as they pass the historic red bricked hotel. The singing and murmured prayers in both English and Spanish mingling into one resounding voice issue out of St. Augustine Church, a tall pale grey Catholic Church with elegant arches and steeples. The calls of local Californian vendors selling anything from strawberries to dessert tamales, at the Farmer’s Market calling out to you to come try a sample.
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