There are four mariachis sitting in a circle  and two more bolitas of three standing a few feet away. Across the street, there are two more sitting on a bus stop bench, neither seem to have the intention of boarding a bus, as they keep letting them pass by. All of them are waiting–

I see four more in a white mini-van with the passenger door open to let in the cool breeze.

None of the musical charros are playing music. The only tunes being played in a plaza named  after them in Boyle Heights comes from the señor with a plastic tent selling masks and other trinkets. He’s playing old school Mexican boleros ( the kind I really love) through a loud speaker.

I hum along to the ones I know as I walk to the bookstore only to find it is also closed. I start to look around, and everything with the exception of  a corner coffee shop are closed. That’s why they are here, that’s why there are so many Mariachi in the plaza today, no one has come. They are waiting for employment to put some food on the table and pay some bills.

Everything is in waiting–
a forced wait that requires hope. That is also why there are lots of Mariachi at the plaza.  They woke up, tightened their red bows, dressed up in their black suits and left their home with their instruments ready to go.