back in l.a.

dropped off our cross-country car at a port in the bay area yesterday. it was a wacky experience getting there, leaving it there, and making my way out of there. my eyes were glazed over though and my mind was somewhere else altogether, so i didn't really mind the experience, which i can imagine would have been aggravating under another mindset. leaving the car was strange--i had no safety net anymore. i had to pack up all of my loose belongings in my red suitcase and actively rely on the kindness of strangers for directions. i was directed to a bus stop outside of the car port, where i sat alone atop my suitcase waiting for the empty bus to arrive and take me to the BART station, at which i would board a train that would leave me in san francisco. once in the city, my red suitcase and i made our way to the greyhound station, having stopped for a sandwich and some gatorade on the way. there i bought a one way ticket to l.a. and sat on my suitcase to wait like i would all day for l.a. to come, while madness ensued in the station around me. bus travel in america is sensational. while i was on the road, i kept wondering where all the hitchers were--i think they've moved on to buses. man, these people! i made it to l.a. right after nightfall, having spent the bulk of the afternoon sleeping, reading, and daydreaming while sitting next to a portly mexican grandmother whose company i didn't mind at all until she brought the remnants of her fast food french fries back to our row after the meal break. now i'm in l.a. and i can only think about new york. i guess its a good thing to want to go home after a long, epic vacation--it must mean i've accomplished what i intended and i'm ready to return.

LA is the loneliest and most brutal of American cities; New York gets god-awful cold in the winter but there's a feeling of wacky comradeship somewhere in some streets. LA is a jungle.

-jack kerouac