On my last day in Los Angeles, I drove this crazy route. I had time to kill before I took the red-eye home. I drove from Hollywood, all the way up the 5, to a place called Kagel Canyon, all the way up to the top of the canyon, past the cemetery, to what seemed like the bottom of the sky, where I turned around, and I could see everything, for miles and miles, the valley forever and ever, it seemed.
Then I came back down. I drove to Studio City. I had lunch at Du-par's. I left my waitress as a 50% tip. The donuts looked awesome.
From there, I continued on through the Valley and back over into the City on the 405. I went to Beverly Hills, Rodeo Drive, Tiffany. It was nice.
I stopped at the La Brea Tar Pits, the tiny elephant still screeching from the edge of the pool of black stench, its small trunk still extended to its eternally drowning mother.
I drove downtown, through the crazy, banging streets, and stopped at the Times building, staring through the glass at the giant globe rotating, at the foot of which the gold letters read:
His legs bestrid the ocean; his rear'd armIn Chinatown, I walked under the swinging persimmon lanterns at dusk.
Crested the world; his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres ...
What was the point? They were all places in my novel. It was like living in between worlds, the real world and the shadow world in my mind. And I was happy.
[Image via Nevver]
