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(originally dated dec. 16, 2007, 8:01 p.m.)
i live in los angeles. although i'm a native, i'm still awed by its lazy, bragging sprawl and its dirtiness and its choking smog that laces its brown face on the horizon. yet, at night, when i drive, i'm always struck by its concrete beauty, the way the buildings jut up into the skyline and shine its lights from above. i was driving through boyle heights tonight and passed graffiti-defaced railroad boxes and apartment buildings and then a crumpled up motorcycle by the side of the center divide on the 101. a fire truck was parked next to it, but there was no body. that lane was closed, and everyone became a gawker, brake lights going on and off. it's easy here, to be a gawker, even when you're a native. you are always surprised by the city's antics, the shard of fear that slices through you when you witness such scenes.
life and death happen so easily in los angeles.
i live in los angeles. although i'm a native, i'm still awed by its lazy, bragging sprawl and its dirtiness and its choking smog that laces its brown face on the horizon. yet, at night, when i drive, i'm always struck by its concrete beauty, the way the buildings jut up into the skyline and shine its lights from above. i was driving through boyle heights tonight and passed graffiti-defaced railroad boxes and apartment buildings and then a crumpled up motorcycle by the side of the center divide on the 101. a fire truck was parked next to it, but there was no body. that lane was closed, and everyone became a gawker, brake lights going on and off. it's easy here, to be a gawker, even when you're a native. you are always surprised by the city's antics, the shard of fear that slices through you when you witness such scenes.
life and death happen so easily in los angeles.
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