L.A. at Night

6199

LA is so beautiful at night it makes me ache. There’s a perfectly sharp sliver of a crescent moon in the sky and I’m wearing a t-shirt and shorts in February. Coming up on five years this July and I still treat this place with the ‘golly gee!’-ness of a tourist. Los Angeles, I could literally shit my pants thinking about you. Your vibe makes my stomach feel like I’m making eye contact with a goddess. The stench of dreams rises from the sewer; inhaling causes fits of idealistic ambition. Adult children come here to make their personas and pipe dreams their new action figures. This is a permanent Disneyland, the mecca for the kid who rejected god and bowed down before entertainment. Oh sweet palm trees painted against the night sky, I will force myself to stop writing for you, for I could go on for days…