I lived in Hollywood for two years. And not the Hollywood hills, I mean the City of Hollywood, 100-yards-from-the-Walk-of-Fame, low-rent strip-clubs, 75-years-of-emotional-desolation Hollywood.
Busted dreams, G 'n' R outtakes.
I must say it's actually not this bleak. I loved it. My apartment was terrific: vaulted ceiling, exposed brick, walk-in closet. Bette Davis lived once in the building (so went the legend).
First place in 20 years that I never drank in, and that compounds the nostalgia.
I took these a couple weeks ago.
I won't miss Los Angeles when I leave, but as the years creep by I'll convince myself that I do.