In a few hours, Virgin Airlines whisks me back to Los Angeles. Apparently it’s going to look like this:
Then, when I land at LAX, it’s going to look something like this:
Assuming I head over to my favorite rave after touch-down, it’ll be my most phosphorescent night on record.
I am equipped with Ipod, headphones, and three books. I’m afraid The Brothers Karamazov is ever on the verge of tipping me into Russian insanity, and thus I have insulated it with the “fluff” of S.J. Perelman, a wit in the ilk of J Thurbs, and Player Piano – as I have found Vonnegut to be a delightful travel companion.
I can only imagine that my next entry will be posted from my favorite writing spot in the entire world – under the trees on the corner of Starbucks in Culver City. Sigh. Shrug. Knee wiggle. Charleston. This is my worst post ever.
Goodnight.
Being Thayer 