Los Angeles is just one big, charming contradiction.
Last night, the crickets sung me to sleep. Hushing, crooning, rocking me to a comfy place of pillows and blankets and breath.
This morning, garbage trucks jolted me to wake with a screeching, hissing, heaving racket. The city outside my apartment was banging, crashing, thudding; full of construction workers, aircraft, emergencies, barks, hammers, tires, shouts, and harsh sunlight.
This city, like any, is the setting of paradox. Inviting, yet repulsive. Peaceful, yet obnoxiously noisy. A good night's rest and insomnia.
This morning, garbage trucks jolted me to wake with a screeching, hissing, heaving racket. The city outside my apartment was banging, crashing, thudding; full of construction workers, aircraft, emergencies, barks, hammers, tires, shouts, and harsh sunlight.
This city, like any, is the setting of paradox. Inviting, yet repulsive. Peaceful, yet obnoxiously noisy. A good night's rest and insomnia.
