“Hi, are you with the exchange program?” I asked.
For the first time, I was able to see the women holding the sign. She was about forty, was wearing a pair of sunglasses and was short and a little chubby, in a friendly sort of way.
“Yeah, my name is Rose, you must be Alex.”
“Alec, but don’t worry, people make that mistake all the time.”
“Alec,” she pronounced it slowly, as if it was foreign, which, I suppose in some ways it was. “I’m parked outside, are you ready to go?”
“Yup.” I said. There didn’t seem much point in staying in the airport much longer.
“Okay then.” Rose said. “Welcome to the city of angels.”
For the next hour we took a scenic route through L.A. and I was amazed at how large it was. It was nothing like London. Instead of businessman in suits and holding briefcases, the city was full of young people. Every five seconds we would pass a coffee shop and it would be packed with people working on apple laptops.
“Wannabe writers.” Rose said.
“What?” I asked.
“The people you’re looking at, they think that in order to write something good they have to be drinking expensive coffee.”
“How come you know that?” I asked, not entirely sure if I believed it, I mean, they couldn’t all be writers.
“Because back in the day I used to be one.” Rose said.
She continued talking, telling me about the city, why she had moved to the suburbs and the crime and corruption that existed. But I was lost. The Hollywood sign had just come into view and we were driving towards it.
“Its an advertisement you know.”
“What?” I said, frustrated about being jolted out of the semi trance.
“You know, I thought you Brits were polite! Didn’t your mum ever teach you to say pardon me?”
“Yes.” I said, quietly.
“That’s okay, I’m just joking.” Rose said in her characteristically loud way. “ I was just saying that the Hollywood sign was actually built as an advertisement for a housing estate. I always think that is one of the only honest things in the city. We turned an advert into a landmark. But I guess it’s totally different in England right? All that history?”
I spoke about England and how the weather was terrible and the reasons that I wanted to come to California.
As we drove out of the city I went to sleep. Even though it was 3PM in L.A. my body still thought it was in England. Plus I had been up for a long time. I never sleep on planes.
I woke up sometime later and we were outside of the city, driving down residential streets.
“Are we there yet?” I asked with a smile.
“Actually, yes.” Rose said as we pulled into a driveway.
The sun was setting and so it was pleasantly warm outside the air condition car. I lugged my bag and wheeled it up to the door.
Rose opened the door and called out to her husband. The house smelled of cooking. Meat. Possibly chicken. It was only now that I realised how hungry I was.
I was looking at a short corridor, with two doors on the left hand side, one door at the end, and a staircase on the right. I could vaguely hear music coming from upstairs. It sounded suspiciously like punk.
Chapter 1 - Nearly Fresh
Start from the beginning
