After dinner, the Husband and I take the time-share back to LA. It is dark as we sweep across the wingspan of California. Below us, the lights go on, city by city, time passing. LA is so beautiful at night from afar, a constellation of stars. It sprawls out and around, not so much a city as a series of urban planning decisions made without foresight. Frank Lloyd Wright mansions give way to Le Corbusier-style churches, mid-century bungalows cohabit with Mediterranean villas, pleasure palaces rub against ascetic lifestyle centers. There is no meaning.
Beneath the plane blanket, the Husband’s hand finds mine.
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