I'm working a temporary gig in Beachwood Canyon while I pack up my things and get ready to liquidate all materiality in the name of mobility. The days I work, I get to drive up the road toward the Hollywood sign, where a light spattering of tourists crawl around like lethargic ants, sporadically but consistently until dusk. The house I'm working out of is a picture-perfect modern Dwell home; concrete, glass and steel. Built in the 80s by the owner who lives there. I haven't met her yet. Our office is above the garage and in order to get to the main entrance you must exit through it to street level, ascend and traverse a triple staircase up the front of the house facing the main road.
This afternoon, just as I emerged, I was greeted by a coyote. It was my first close encounter and I didn't know the etiquette so I just waited for her lead. We both stood still, maybe 15 feet apart, me on the first step, her on the road. This lasted a few seconds but it felt much longer. I waited again for her lead. We lifted our heads and I took a step forward, spooking her slightly, she ran up the street without me. For a moment, I felt lost without her.
Driving due west on Sunset at sunset is a perfect way to encapsulate Los Angeles. The sky turns to indigo, forcing the glow of the neon signs to perfectly balance the black silhouette of the palm trees framing the thoroughfare like desert postcards from the 50s. Do this if you get a chance to. Even plastic people melt into meaning in this backdrop.
It's possible that I'm able to see LA in this way because I'm getting ready to leave here soon. Like she's reminding me that nothing is real and life is how I see it. She's right and I know that. But for now, in these warm fall days, winter is a fairytale in a very distant reality on some horizon for other people, though I can feel its lessons tugging at me. Incubate, child. Go deep into those ice covered interiorscapes and claw your way out to rebirth. My circadian, seasonal rhythms can't be fooled by this LA temptress. But the dance feels good, Siberian soul with skin kissed in gold, a tango I'm drawn to so effortlessly.
Had dinner with a couple in an exquisite Mexican restaurant's outdoor garden on Melrose, only our third time ever spending time together, our first solely for each other. So strange to meet new friends who are really old friends, who were always a part of my story. Such bright, earnest, calm, sparkling mirrors, reflecting a life worth living. Bookends of tequila and Russian tea cookies, filled with novels of butternut squash quesadillas, bootstraps and falling in love.
Note to self: these people.
As if my day wasn't full enough, (concurrently a painful reminder of what’s been missing), I ran into an old lover on the way home. We shared a beer with some people who became white noise as we unexpectedly fell into the best part of our memories. Staring with stupid smiles, drinking Belgian beer that we got for free because we divined it. He said, "I'm leaving for Sedona tomorrow for 2 days, are you coming?" "Of course I'm coming. I'm buying us cheap sunglasses with red lenses. They're only red for a few minutes, then all of a sudden you're in a Quentin Tarantino film. Sepia. It's crazy." He then drove me two blocks to my home. "Ok, you get the glasses, I'll get the mushrooms. I'll be back here for you, same place, same time, tomorrow night."
I guess I'll see you after Sedona.