Driving through Topanga Canyon, and then onto Mulholland Drive, I could see why the area had become infamous for the subtly terrifying and the unreal.
The place was gorgeous.
If I could see a sunset everyday, as dazzling and disorienting as the one I had seen while driving along the switchbacks heading down into the valley, I might be content to stay here forever, alien abductions and fictional serial murders be damned.
As it stood, I was heading to a small Starbucks tucked somewhere in this elongated suburb, the kind that bears and mountain lions and hipsters frequent. I was preparing for an interview that had me driving an hour out of my way. I’d like to say I had thought, “This better be worth my time,” but really I was thankful for the excuse to get out of my apartment and get some fresh-as-I-can-get-in-LA air.
I actuality, I was excited to see what this position might have in store, if I were to be chosen at all. It was, first and foremost, a speaking position, so far as I could tell. For the last couple months when it had been difficult to speak as fluidly as I would have liked – thanks in part to a mental breakdown and in most parts to a hastily reoriented life path – so I was looking forward to the challenge of reclaiming my gift of gab.
Finally, after creeping slowly through the parking lot of the proper mini-mall, nestled on the eastern side of a thoroughfare that seemed to stretch for miles, I found my destination, parked and gathered my things, and went inside.