to los angeles on Wednesday morning

There is a feeling that I may be really in for it, if I don’t stay true. And for a young artist, this is the great recurring dilemma. But first I would have to decide if I am indeed an artist; and I most certainly am not. No, I am just some young pilgrim looking for a new fix in the City of Angels.

Los Angeles is still just that, a city of angels, though people these days may preach otherwise and cite horrible traffic and bad air and crazy characters everywhere they look. But these same people never leave Los Angeles. Nobody ever leaves, and I get the feeling that it has much less to do with circumstance than their own choice, and an unspoken and very enduring affection for this place. In a city where nearly everyone comes from some other corner of the world, lonesomeness and passion and antiquity and youth unite us all into the craziest little chorus on the globe, leaving no place feeling more like home.

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