L'édition de cet ISBN n'est malheureusement plus disponible.
Afficher les exemplaires de cette édition ISBNLes informations fournies dans la section « Synopsis » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
A view heals all woes. A view makes you feel as if you own something bigger than yourself, as if you own a place on the planet.
I watched the Valley twinkle in the heat below, like the ocean only prettier because it was a sea of lights, because it was movement and life, because it let me be separate but connected to a thousand people in a thousand houses with a thousand stories, many sadder than my own. The mainline of Sepulveda charging north into worsening demographics. Van Nuys, beautiful only from a distance, where Mexicans play soccer workday mornings, crossing themselves before kickoff as if God cares about the outcome of a hung-over pickup game. The 405, a curved waterfall of white headlights. Ventura moving east past the by-the-hour motels with glam studio names where johns bring broken street kids or vice versa. And around the Cahuenga pass where the city waits, an insatiable and inscrutable mistress, spread on a bed of neon with a Sphinx smile, her just-pounced paws set down on punctured dreams.
I closed my eyes, cruising through Hollywood of the hipsters and wanna-bes, the culture consumers with brand names Roman-lettered across ass velour. Drifted behind the honk-oblivious Cutlass with Arkansas plates doing five miles per hour down the Boulevard as heads inside craned on substantial Southern necks, past black kids rat-a-tat-tatting on overturned white buckets, past peeling German noses, the sticky smell of suntan lotion, intoxicating smog, silver hoops piercing bronze belly buttons, Gap billboards of pop sensations in floppy hats, and up the alleys into real Hollywood, where hookers kneel over pools of vomit and junkies stumble from doorways, scratching their shoulders, mumbling their nighttime song, gotta get well, gotta get well.
Through the run of comedy clubs, where husbands from Wichita laugh at Jesus jokes despite sideways glances from prim-mouthed housewives, where amateurs sweat through sets and maybe, just maybe, after the heard-it-all waitresses clear the second empty glass of the two-drink minimum, that big-name sitcom actor will pop in to work out some new material. Then west to Boys Town where gay couples come in shapes and sizes to defy the limited straight imagination, where soft-porn billboards overlook studded leather window treatments, glowing tarot cards, and tattoo parlors, where lovers sip coffee within scream-shot of porn palaces with purple polystyrene, and parking signs totem-pole atop one another, impervious to comprehension. Past the Urth Café, where washed-up divorcees munch organic lettuce, faces caved from pills and swollen with collagen, a war of fleshy attrition. Down the slick snake of Sunset with its old mansions, its bright and brazen Hustler store, its Carnation lights at the holidays. Through Beverly Hills' runs of palms oft-filmed but never captured, leisure suits riding Segways to Valentino, celebutantes strolling with purse dogs, agents with their invisible cell-phone earpieces mumbling solo outside restaurants and at stoplights, the nattering dispossessed.
Come Westwood, come Brentwood, where three-one-oh moms push symmetrical children in designer strollers through farmer's markets and wax dreamily about Bali hotels. Onward to the Palisades, Santa Monica Canyon, and Malibu, up the sparkling coastline reeking of exhaust and covered with seagull guano, then through the runs of canyons, deep russet pleats like streaks of ore or a woman's folds, the air startlingly crisp and tinged with salt.
My cheeks were wet with the breeze and the swell of my heart for the lights below. Los Angeles. A mirage of a town that sprang up like a cold sweat on the backs of gold diggers and railroad workers, and took form when pirate film distributors, fleeing Edison's patents, took a train and a gamble backed by East Coast muscle.
Los Angeles, land of endless promise. And endless failure. Los Angeles of the petty cruelties. Los Angeles of the instant hierarchy, the spray-on tan, the copped feel. L.A. of the bandaged, post-operative nose, the chai menu, the slander lawsuit. Of the hyphenated job title. The two-SUV garage. L.A. with its wide-open minds and well-formed opinions. L.A. of the high-octane sunset, the warm night air that leaves you drunk. L.A. of the prolonged adolescence, the slow-motion seduction, the ageless, replaceable blonde. L.A. where a porn star runs for governor and an action figure wins. L.A. where anything can happen at any time to some poor schmuck or lucky bastard. Where anything can happen to you.
Where anything had happened to me.
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
Frais de port :
Gratuit
Vers Etats-Unis
Description du livre Etat : New. Book is in NEW condition. N° de réf. du vendeur 0670063215-2-1
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : New. N° de réf. du vendeur DADAX0670063215
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New. Fast Shipping and good customer service. N° de réf. du vendeur Holz_New_0670063215
Description du livre Etat : New. New! This book is in the same immaculate condition as when it was published. N° de réf. du vendeur 353-0670063215-new
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : New. Etat de la jaquette : New. 1st Edition. Brand new, first edition, first printing, full number line no remainder marks. Ships in a box, fast service from a real bricks and mortar independent bookseller open since 1998. N° de réf. du vendeur 010531
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New. N° de réf. du vendeur Wizard0670063215
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : New. Etat de la jaquette : New. First Edition; First Printing. This specific hardback book is in new condition with a hard board cover that has sharp edges and corners and has a tight binding. The pages are clean, crisp, unmarked and uncreased. The dust jacket is in new condition with no discernible wear. We package all books in custom cardboard book boxes for shipment and ship daily with tracking numbers.; "Awakening in a hospital with a scar on his head and no memory of being found holding a knife over his ex-fiancée's murdered body, crime novelist Drew Danner struggles to reconstruct clues to determine his own guilt or innocence. By the author of The Tower."; 9.1 X 6.1 X 1.3 inches; 320 pages. N° de réf. du vendeur 22910
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : new. New Copy. Customer Service Guaranteed. N° de réf. du vendeur think0670063215
Description du livre Etat : new. N° de réf. du vendeur FrontCover0670063215
Description du livre Hardcover. Etat : Brand New. 320 pages. 9.00x6.25x1.25 inches. In Stock. N° de réf. du vendeur 0670063215