Before The Brain Starts
There’s about 2 ounces of coffee and a mess of omelet in my stomach and the brain, it has yet to start. Instead of an editor free tumble down the stream of consciousness I’ve got the simple output of basic input: the rhythmic twittering of the local birdsong, the harsh white sun reflection of the porch post beam across the driveway, a blue grey sky painted with almost translucent clouds.
All that and the green.
People who don’t live here like to tell you that L.A. isn’t green. That it’s a giant strip mall that’s been teleported into the desert. In some respects they’re right: there are plenty of blighted places in this city where nature has been beaten back by the short sighted greed of thoughtless developers.
Which is why I make Los Feliz my home. Tucked in close to the wildness of Griffith Park, land of the coyote. The hills and flats here are dotted with trees, and not just of the palm variety, though we have plenty of those too.
If I’m being honest with myself I can’t really afford this apartment. There’s debts that need to be paid off and that hasn’t seemed to have been happening since I moved in. Yet I don’t want to live anywhere else. A little oasis in the craziest city on Earth. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.