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I have flown, London to Los Angeles, and it is good to feel my own feet against the warm tarmac ground. No keys, no car, just my legs to stretch and the rays to catch. So I choose to walk. In LA? Nobody walks in LA. Not another soul, just the pat of my shoes on the pavement (sidewalk, whatever), the burn and buzz of cars, incredulous passengers peering out at me, sizing me up as they pass, singing perhaps. A foreign oddity in the empty sunny space, chasing a bigger eye. I do not miss the road, under the bridge, under me. And I am not a stray. Nobody walks in LA. But I am not a nobody. I am cinematic. |
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CONVERSATION
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