I’d gone into the desert before. Rode from the southwest tip to Oakland at the dawn of the nineties. Oh, the desert is a concept that operates on a schedule devoid of the now now now Manhattan and Los Angeles revolve around. Heading to the molasses of it isn’t an instinct of preservation.
Los Angeles is the desert. Los Angeles is the first place that will return to desert after humanity disintegrates. And I forget that sometimes as the piped in water evaporates everywhere, as planters the size of compact cars present palm trees from some other exotic locale like they are our awards. That is sure enough of a reason to sit down and let go of the pulse. Salute the impropriety of barren scrub. Everything else is set dressing. Here, and here, and here.
by Hank Cherry
