One thing I can hear tonight is distant traffic. It's heavier than it used to be, and continues later at might. When the wind blows I can't hear the traffic, but on a still night like this it is out there, however faintly, like an omen of the future. I picture restless cars in garages in San Jose and Van Nuys thinking about leaving home and coming here. Eventually they'll do it. But with luck I'll be dead by then. I always liked the sound of traffic in Los Angeles, but her the mere thought of it seems like a mockery. mean in Los Angeles there's somewhere to go. Cars moving around in this place must be up to no good.
Well, I think I've just set myself up for bad dreams tonight. Maybe there is a comedy on television that will counteract those thoughts. Anything but reruns of My Mother the Car.