Los Angelinos are the most spatially distracted population in the continental US.

You think this as the museum crowd walks into you.
“It is time for stormy weather.”
Everyone intones, June gloom,
and you wander Melrose for a decent jacket
to survive the remaining junket weekend.

The Blue Line’s brand new; you jaunt from one
tourist hunt to another, but are still confounded
to have a simple request for how to reach a particular street
delegated to a complete stranger, who, of course, doesn’t know.

And, don’t ask a taxi driver.
The one you have is worthless.

Is it coincidence that all the tourist attractions
smell like public urinals?

If Kansas City is a remote expectorant,
Los Angeles is a fever dream with no relief
but departing plane lights.

All your favorite LA movies:
an ex you try to dial
on a sleepless night.