To live and die in LA


Quite comfortably sitting at the Starbucks in Santa Monica after paying a taxi driver 50 bucks to get me out of the most scary neighborhood I ever been to. There I was, walking up and down the streets of Downtown LA, with my Samsonite trolley and my big North Face bag on my back among all the toothless crack addicts, drug dealers and whores(not that many whores, but I think I saw one at least).

I had little time before the Greyhound was leaving yesterday, so I decided to take a cab instead of walking. The driver didn’t know where the station was, but he found a bus central and dropped me off there. Of course, it was the completely wrong station, and I had to walk for 1/2 hour to get to the right one after that. This made me lose my bus, so I had to walk up and down Fremont street for 3 hours before the next one.