When you go outside, it is like walking into the smoking car on Amtrack, though you'd have to have taken a long train in the previous few decades to remember that. Or perhaps more like whatever room your grandpa smoked Winstons and watched Andy Griffith in, except the air is not stale and same-same rich with the high-notes hair tonic, and here it hits the eyes just before the lungs. It is not campfire, it is plastic siding and porch railing and dresses and trashcans and truck tires. During the day the sky is milky and thick and at night is hard pink striae and dark too soon.
How do Californians manage these disasters that you cannot prevent or predict and barely fight? In the midwest, we have shovels and tornadoes, you know they are coming. The naturalness of these LA disasters are foreign to me.Posted by jessica hopper at November 16, 2008 02:14 PM | TrackBack