Foggy Nights

In The Daily Drool on September 27, 2009 at 11:25 am

Last night LA was drenched in that beautiful white mist that sometimes rolls in off the Pacific.  It sneaks up on you and your thoughts, and before you know it LA has you wrapped in a soft, dreamy glow, almost like you’re in a movie… causing you to wax poetic about the city that eats people alive.

All ’round LA you meet people of the walking dead- the victims of too much dreaming and not enough achieving.  Their stories are many, but always a variation on the same old theme:  They thought they were gonna’ be SOMEBODY, and instead they’re just the same, run-down version of who they used to be.  Maybe they flubbed the big audition and never got back on their feet, maybe their best friend made off with their screenplay and agent, maybe they put everything they owned on  the line for a project that never saw the light of day… whatever the casualty, their eyes reflect the same defeated stare.  These are the people that come up to you at parties, their needy little auras desperate to wrap itself around you and your survival instincts, and make you shiver.  You squirm internally before you even know anything about them, your radar telling you that this person is in disrepair and you best be getting away from them before they try to feed off some of your parts.

What is it about this place that those damaged goods don’t pack it up and leave before they wind up completely void of spirit?  Is it the feeling of “I’ve put in this much time and lost so much already… to pack it in now would render it all for naught.”  And so they stay?  Or have they simply been here so long that they can’t imagine any other life?  (sigh)  I run in to these people every now and then, and I always want to shake them, tell them to “Get out!  Escape!  Start fresh somewhere else” and rekindle their internal flame.

Because nothing is worth this.

But then I drive home in the fog and am myself captivated by Los Angeles and her many promises.  Promises of warm days, bright lights, and big dreams… and I know that there may come a day when I find myself at the crossroads of that big decision: To pack it in, or to stick it out.  And I know, with every fiber of my being, that I will leave this naughty temptress rather than become a shell.  And as I walk up the steps of my apartment, fog dancing round my head, I whisper “I am not fooled”…  watching as my breath swirls the misty air, soul safe within, eyes twinkling, but alert.


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