We worked our way up from Los Angeles to near the Canadian border.
Los Angeles felt familiar but not like home.
I knew where to go to get the shot of The Strip and where to get the sunset reflecting off the buildings of Downtown.
While the DP got the shimmer of the sunset, I got to talk to an old neighbor who didn’t know we were neighbors, but did go to high school with my old landlord. I told the unknown neighbor how my old landlord and brother had a fist fight in the street after they rocked their mother to her death from cancer in a canoe placed in her living room. The unknown neighbor expressed remorse for picking on my old landlord back in school. He had no idea how rough those boys had it growing up with parents who were the communists who ruled Red Hill, my old neighborhood.
I have stories and love to reminisce and watch the sun shimmer off those buildings, but I don’t miss it.
Well, the people. My people. I miss my people.