The City Sleeps Sweetly. Lost and Lonely. Los Angeles You Poison Me.

LA at 1 in the morning…

it’s eerily quiet…

you can almost hear 3 million people sleeping…

no one is pumping the gas…

no one is reading the news…


cars wait at the red light…

Where are they going?

Are they happy? Are they Drunk?

LA at 1 in the morning is a lonely place.

Cars don’t talk.

Stoplights don’t give off warmth.

A neon sign can’t kiss you.

Charles Bukowski put it like this:

if you’re a man, Los Angeles is where you hang it up and
battle; or if you’re a woman, and you’ve got enough leg and
the rest, you sail it against a mountain backdrop so
when you grow grey you can hid in Beverly Hills
in a mansion so nobody can see how you’ve decayed.

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