It seems otherworldly that walking home from the news stand, sitting in four o’clock traffic, sweating on the Metro and staring out the window at the same tree-lined intersection could never get boring. And that’s coming from somebody who finds it necessary to jump between a trillion different interests on a daily basis just to stay sane.
While I’ve been to Los Angeles quite a few times, this was the first time since Uber came into existence. Prior to that, 17-year-old Margaret had thought it ordinary to walk, bus and train the mammoth blocks of the City of Angels. Years later, shock-horrored friends would insist that this was not the way to do LA.
The more I travel, the more I find myself packing for the destination, rather than touting a pinstripe man suit on a white sand beach. White cotton for Cote d’Azur, all-black for New York, and apparently breezy blues and Pendleton for a brief break in Bali.