The Bitter Taste of Apples
The rain in Los Angeles doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the dirt wetter. I stood under the awning of a diner on Western Avenue and watched the water carve rivers through the grease on the sidewalk, thinking about how the city looked exactly like its inhabitants: polished on top, rotting underneath, and pretending that rain was anything other than a temporary illusion of purity. The...
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