I don’t like Los Angeles, I struggle with it.
It’s a Monday morning and people are crowding freeways, prickly people. Self-absorbed and self-conscious unhappy pricks. It’s not yet nine in the morning and they already burnt all the air. Swallowed it up and farted it out of an imported tail pipe.
Breathing in through the nose or through the mouth, I’m nauseated either way. Eyes itch, from invisible soot or from glare of dirty light reflected from car windows. I don’t want to see anyway, but to close my eyes and remember that I get to go back home to San Diego tonight.
That was two years ago. Anger issues had subsided since.