On my drive to work this morning I saw a homeless man walking along the edge of Mulholland Drive. I all but experienced the overwhelming dread of waking up to a line of idling cars filled with frustrated people who are worried about getting to work on time, stuck in a postmodern assembly line that reproduces itself and people like him. Then came the second-hand numbness.
A half mile down the road I noticed someone had cut the tall grass under a tree on the north side, where he may have spent the night, the same grass that had reminded me of how beautiful the world is only a couple days before. Uncut grass, gold in the rising sun, bends in the wind on the opposite side of the road, the lazy foreground of an expansive cityscape, deceptive and still.
