yearn

LA's heartbreaking beauty after the first rainstorm of fall, when everything is sparkle and crispy new and full of fresh. griffith park hikes after work during summer's butterlight. the sparkle of the pacific just peaking over the horizon as you race along canan dume road. maple street downtown with its spanish speaking arabs, its spanish speaking everyone selling you every variety of damask and stretch velvet and fun fur. the santa monica pier on a warm summer night. the silly aspirations of the masses who come to the magical place where everyone one can be special, get beautiful, be seen, get famous, wait tables, get a dayjob...and then maybe write overly rosey wistful tributes to their hometown. the soaring overpasses of the 110 meets the 105 interchange. my backyard in north hollywood with air exactly the temperature of my skin- the bath of los angeles. taco trucks, hotdogs wrapped in bacon on the street, corn on a stick carts. the sweet-tart spicey delight of a chile mango ziplock walking leisurely around echo park lake. the heat emanating off the street in waves, hinting at pools of water that cannot possibly exist on santa monica blvd in mid-july. thai food and sushi and vietnamese pho treasures tucked secretly in flat colorless mini-malls. brunches every weekend al fresco. sunset junction. burning man exodus. santa ana winds that make you want to run wild and make everything you touch electric. bungalows, dingbats, palm trees. venice beach on a weekday when its just you and that roller skating guitar guy. movies in broadway theater palaces, movies in a cemetery, movies blocking your way to work. the uncanny perseverance of a million immigrants. the uncanny way that los angeles can be the object of so much love and hope and dreaming, with its crowded freeways and smog and crime and homeless, and urban strife and natural disasters. the way my city colors my memories with all the details i love, while all the inconvenient annoyances and ugly bits just fall away.

does everyone dream of home?