We've been enjoying the most wonderous of Santa Ana winds, those of us not living in the hills, of course, watching over their shoulders for the first sign of fire. The lights of Hollywood promise perhaps the last weekend evening of the year when you may go out without even a sweater at any hour.
It is so not like Miami; the air is as dry as could be imagined. For some reason, though, I can't get out to enjoy it. There are so few places to go... our main gathering places around town are packed to the gills with tourists, which can be enjoyable at some times of the day, but not when you just want to ramble at your own pace, or enjoy a coffee at some cafe and watch the passing parade.
Yet it is not San Francisco, either, where the threat of a chilling wind might follow the pleasant part of the evening with little or no warning.
The following day, I am up at dawn--later than during Summer proper, reminding us that winter is coming. I waste the my time during the heat of the morning; afternoon and evening will be taken up with West Hollywood. I guess it is here, whether I like it or not, that I will enjoy my twilight (if the locals will allow me).
Perhaps tomorrow or Sunday I'll get to the beach, escape the heat, and ogle the flesh. I still have many blank pages in my sketch book, if too many are already taken up with drawings of the coast from Point Dume and the Palisades to Hermosa and Manhattan.
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