4-17-05 - 3


There's a neighborhood in the old part of Los Angeles where the air is still and heavy, thick with the smells of lilac and oleander. The streets are empty, and the old spanish-style mansions seem to sit watch, silently. If you look up, you'll see a hill covered in glass houses, built on stilts to climb to better views. That hill appears on no map, but there's no blank spot, it's simply as if the hill was cut out and the hole was sewn up. There the streets are winding and confusing, and when ever you try to drive towards the hill, you find yourself twisted and lost and turned around, unexpectedly going the other way.

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old rants