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The quiet of the morning opens in a vast skyline towards the ocean’s horizon.

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Every morning I drive to work and every morning I pass this poster. Every morning it burns into my eyes with its declarative words, “YOU DID NOT DESERVE IT.” and I know what it’s talking about, we all do.

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It’s obvious: These kids have no respect for anyone but themselves.

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You think of restaurants and bars in terms of what day it is, and what special they’re offering.

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Last week a very drunk, very trendy girl spat at me on the street.

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I mean, our grocery store doesn’t even label their herbs. They just have a refrigerated bevy of little green plastic-wrapped baggies. Can’t tell the difference between fresh cilantro and fresh parsley? Too bad, you fucking troglodyte.

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In the predictable and consistent space of Thanksgiving, we created our own camaraderie, a sense of togetherness that we solidified from year to year.

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I used to see this old man in my neighborhood. He always wore high wads, a hat with a fuzzy brim and ear flaps with patches of hunter’s orange, Fargo Chic if you will.

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Everyone, except for a white lesbian couple who had moved to the area to build parks for underprivileged children, was black or Hispanic.

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Live inside the freezer of a 7/11, an opium ring, a mausoleum, a baby merchant operation, a 24-hour airport café or an actual Tea Party.