So Los Angeles was Los Angeles. Looked dusty and dry as hell. I squeezed in one long afternoon and evening with my old friend and editor, David. He took me out for some amazing spicy tuna sushi at Geisha House, a cool and very red place on (the otherwise gritty) Hollywood Boulevard. We did some shopping too, walking around in some of that blinding, late afternoon, long-shadow LA light that you see in some Gary Winogrand photographs.
Otherwise, I didn't sit down much: I was interviewing immigrants, nurses and welfare experts; taking pictures of street signs and middle schools; and getting cross-examined by angry non-profit wonks with an ax to grind. Wuff.
I'm a little beat.
And I've just boarded Virgin Atlantic 418 to JFK-NYC. The 10 pm red-eye. I'm set to touch down in New York at about 6:30 am.
Shit, I just remembered I haven't arranged my bus to Boston. That's the next leg of the trip--about forty hours from now. I must make these preparations. Yes.
First, I think I'll sleep for a few hours or 48.