Adventures in the City of Angels
We are humans in the city of angels and I can feel it in the way my feet hit the pathway. Grounded to concrete, I’m walking over stars. My apologies to those artists greater than myself that get trodden on. The Hollywood walk of shame sticks to the soles of my trainers like La Brea, oil into plastic and plastic into people. The observatory sits above all and I think, I was up there last night. Stars once again, stars in all directions. You look up to a night sky washed out by the downtown lights, a whole ocean of galaxy lost to West Coast greed and if you look down, you see Hollywood.
That’s where I am, en route to the Last Bookstore as if it might be the last bookstore I ever enter. I hop on a bus because it’s no fun being the sole pedestrian in a city made of metal on wheels. It’s smogwarm on top of the desert climate and I choose to sit up top. It’s open top. There’s an audio recording telling me the top spots to spot top celebrities as if I hadn’t just walked all over them from the Boulevard to Vine.
When we were told to aim for the moon to land among the stars we didn’t realise that they meant we’d wind up in Los Angeles.
Flight of the dragonfly 