Tonight it's cool, the city enveloped in fog. I've snaked my way through Pasadena and now head home, back to Hollywood on Highway 101.
As I drive past downtown L.A., I can see the skyscrapers tower above me, advertisements and signs atop the buildings effectively blurred by vapor. The traffic bellows but it's quiet as I travel, as if the brume submerges the sound.
No one is out, save for a woman with a platinum blond mohawk looking to cross the street at Franklin and Highland. But I am taking side streets. I drive through the dark; and finally, I am home.