Brian, you look homeless.
— The Entire City of Los Angeles, or at least Sunset Boulevard, including my friend Kara, as I leave her apartment in West Hollywood and walk 2 miles, beard blowing in the wind and unwashed hair concealed under my hat, to a coffee shop, holding my backpack and a plastic bag containing my leftover fettucine from last night and a six-pack of “Woodie Gold”, a microbrew from the restaurant where Kara waitresses which she gave me out of the kindness of her heart / a desire to see me look ridiculous. A hobo I may be, Los Angeles, but don’t say it to my face. And let’s face it, if I am a hobo, at least I look like I know how to party….and write run-on sentences.
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