They were digging tunnels underneath of the city. Some people felt imaginary shock waves from imaginary earthquakes their minds created out of the real possibility. But the city managers hadn’t done their diligence, so the bike riders and train station cowboys, the jazzers, the rolling grocers, the ocean tides and Mercedes Benzes all knew the truth of it. When Wilshire started to fume with methane, they shut the expansion down for 25 years. It was a billion dollars to the beach. It was Wilshire blvd. It was a wind tunnel plume of businessmen avoiding responsibility. It was Eli Broad and it was Norton Simon. It was the black tulip blossoming on architectural prints made by a bearded man from Switzerland. It was the hammering sound of tired saxophone keys fracturing the status quo.
by Hank Cherry