LA I love you. All the extra words are junk. I just fucking love your gritty, pungent, greasy streets in the morning dew. I love Sunset Blvd… the lights, the stand still traffic, the hookers. I love your hard lines, and that everytime I am with you,  famous people are there, too. I love Little Tokyo, getting fresh mochi and sitting by the fountain eating it. I love Olvera Street, her tacos and Tres Generationas shots… bright paper mache flowers! LA I love that we were only about 20 minutes to you on the five without traffic, and that no one ever cared that we played in the glass elevators at the Bonaventure Hotel all night when we were wild teenagers. I love you, LA. Your garment district, my home away from home for many formative years, your quiet North Hollywood neighborhoods, your welcoming Weat Hollywood, with lots of kissable girls and boys, good places to eat, and shops with rainbows in every window. LA I love you

I love Guitar Center, The Getty, The Greek, The Pantages, Mark Taper… Hollywood Bowl…  I love that you always treated me like I was somebody… even when you knew I wasn’t. 

I love you, LA.