There is something vile and putrid about Los Angeles that taints every aspect of the city and every person who lives there. Maybe it’s the poisonous smog that leaves a thick brown layer of dust on the crooked and misspelled hand-painted signs and flashy film industry business cards. The rancid smoke blows out of ’74 pintos and brand new Mercedes alike.
And we imbibe this poison air. It trickles down into our lungs and pumps through our veins, into our hearts, into our minds. It rots our thoughts, feelings and desires. It putrefies our ability to love, to care and to smile genuinely.
I feel like a vampire from Brooklyn, dressed in a black dress and black seventies jacket, melting in the glaring sun. I’m somehow partially immune to this decaying air that everyone is breathing. But I see the foul Los Angeles spirit rotting everything it touches, and nobody else sees it.
OMG I like totally don’t understand what you are talking about. LA is awesome. There’s like celebrities, and blonde girls, and film, film, film. Screenplays and acting and award shows for film, film, film.
What are you working on there? A screenplay? For a film?
But the only film I care about is the layer of gray, dusty film on the coffee shop window in front of me. Traces of the evil, polluted winds that darken this sunny city.
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There's a part of me that's really sad that you look at LA this way and think we're all a little doomed to its pollution. But then I agree with most of what you say - I kind of hate LA. I hate that whenever I dust my cloth comes away black. I hate that I get sick twice as often here as everywhere else. And I hate that everyone seems to think sunshine outweighs everything else, enough that we all stay here despite our misgivings...
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