Tuesday, October 11

Santa Monica and Ross and Chandler

Among the fresh produce, healthy lifestyle, warm weather and a handful of dearly missed pals residing near either Intelligentsia or a beach, I love Los Angeles to the point that I pout all the way home. And, eat whole avocados. I pout and eat whole avocados the entire way home, no joke.

Between an early morning jog to Venice and back aided by Childish Gambino on repeat, sangria and Coffee Bean by the pool, Young The Giant playing the epically large Hollywood Bowl, late-night post-show fresh fruit room service, permanent riding in the passenger's seat, football-watching whiskey before noon and back-to-back trips to Blue Plate, it's almost hard to think of a more elaborate answer than "ack, never" to my friends' incessant questioning of how long it'll take for me to bump it West Coast style.

Considering I'm a horrific driver to the point that i've really technically never driven on a city highway (a fact that's almost impressive at this point), it's not in the cards for me to live there now or any time soon, but i'll be damned if i won't pretend it's a possibility when i'm eating my way through breakfast menus and shrieking at vintage store windows all over town.

There's just something about that city that makes me incredibly calm, relaxed and carefree, and I wish I could grab onto it and hold it tight before it fizzles out somewhere during the third hour of the flight. I know there will always be a next time and another journey, but I just wish it would come soon.

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