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Houndstooth Cityscape - COPY

Los Angeles - COPY

This city is alive. It has become a haven. This love-hate relationship one can always find themselves back in. A bad influence or that feeling of uncertainty because you’re in a place where dreams come true, or you can find yourself alongside a boulevard of broken dreams.

When the latter happens, it is a tragedy but its vestige and rich history in a sense can bring one back to a life of inspiration and aspersion because this place is fickle and cyclical, but there is really no other place like it.

No place like home…

No place like Los Angeles… its past, the remnants of Old Hollywood, the Roaring 20’s, cultures and scenes that once upon a time set a standard.

What is not to love? A reinventing hub of progressive nature and creativity. It is as if almost anything is possible, and one can believe possibilities exist.

I had fallen for what it once was. A golden age, Art Deco architecture. I peeled back the cosmetics and just basked in the moonlight of venue. The Griffith Park observatory. The lobby of the Bradbury. The Warner Bros. backlot. The Black Cat Bar. Phillipe’s French Dipped. My neighborhood Echo Park surprisingly, the birthplace of the silent era, and I would sit and block out the nuisance of city folk in my own private La La Land. Sitting in a corner booth off to the sides, taking in the essence. The ambiance lives in noir.

Sometimes you need a stranger to talk to. And sometimes you just need to listen. And see what lies underneath.


Las Vegas - COPY

The curtain has risen, and the audience is this strange place, this town. Glamourized as this beacon of hope, this is what keeps folks coming - infinite acceptance and exclusivity. Lady Luck or the seven deadly sins. Sin City because it really is a city of sin. Way too much to endure for lengthy periods: greed, lust, envy, wrath, gluttony… this place has all of it from buffets to finger flicking hooker solicitations. 

I get it. It is rebelling from etiquette, carpe diem, Viva Las Vegas and shots shots shots shots and shots. It is a temporary fix, an amyl nitrite high that fades, and then it just really hurts getting pounded after. While it is happening, it is great, but leaving Las Vegas is never fun. 

Why do folks do it? 

My penny slot definition is it offers the opportunity to live under an alter ego as well as the ultimate high. This overwhelming overdose of hallucinogens and other substances. Much like the daze of Fear and Loathing. A socially accepted playground. Abstract encounters of anonymity and desire that embolden folks.


New Orleans – COPY

It is as if every stop before this was just an appetizer before the entrée in a three-course Brennan’s suit and tie experience. It was the turtle soup before the soft-shell crab, it was the ever-so-delicious Malbec before the Porterhouse and the sweet potato soufflé topped with vanilla ice cream and a chicory espresso.

New Orleans had stolen my heart for many reasons. A few extremes and such. Possessed by this place, I find myself lurking freely down the narrow streets of the French Quarter where I’d frequented every dive and reminisced in whatever watering holes, shops, richness and vestige this city had to offer from its 300 years of age.

Hiding in the shadows of an Absinthe speakeasy on Bourbon Street, one I once got an invite to from a woman who I bought Sage at a Vampire boutique from, I felt so seen and heard. There was this sense of inclusivity and novelty in the way that everything seems so authentic, but if you were to lift it, there should be a sticker underneath that said, “made in China.”

But why not live in the moment? Revel in the spirit. Feel a sense of belonging among real locals; some might describe them as “eccentric.”

I sit by candlelight as a crooner croons a rendition of King Creole’s New Orleans alongside a piano and I am swooning. This place, this buzz, this dive, the afterglow of earlier orgasmic bliss; it is overwhelming. I am enamored and excited about the prospects of folks and their life stories.

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