Transient Angel

Getting to know L.A. on a more intimate level, feeling it's grime on my own skin, it's hard to call this place the stuff dreams are made of. Blocks filled with the depravity of skid row, the beach bathrooms of Venice that feel like small asylums, their occupants yelling in the piss smelled darkness, too high to figure their way out of the stalls. Those that can afford luxury build their buildings tall enough to hide in the smog, away from that piss smell. I wonder if we are all just lost angels here, and this is just what a city of us looks like. The glitz and glamor of bright lights just as illusive as the dreams you came here with. Endless possibilities scattered across miles of palm trees and hills. Where will I wander next?