Los Angeles: We were standing on the porch way way up over Hollywood Blvd. last night in the hills as high up as you can go and the whole thing was out there before us, all those lights glowing like a millions of dreams and qquiet with only the wind rushing across the valley at the Hollywood Hills . . . At CM's house there was a bulldog and a super friendly cat and a tall and very lovely Danish girlfriend and a collection of ancient Greek artifacts and a perfect harley maybe the best Ive ever seen in the garage and a lot of stories . . . This was Hollywood and JW my partner was struck hard by the fragile beauty of it all . . . so was I and by CM's excellent hospitality . . . It was the perfect ending to an excellent week or two in which luck has somehow returned or forced one down the Path of its choosing. JW calls it Destiny and perhaps he is right . . . There is a tide in the lives of men . . . of course . . . and so there we were cruising down the winding hill street to Sunset past those houses, the ghost houses, the most haunted in America because this is where the most inexplicable longing of all resides . . . Desire . . . to make Dreams real . . . or at least to have the chance . . . These are immortal hills more susceptible to quakes of the spirit than of the land. These hills will kill you. These hills will spur you on to things you never dared (that would be tempting fate) could happen. So you look down on the eternal flaming metropolis and wonder which inextinguishable flame burns for you . . .
