Teaser

Famous people don't get to ride streetcars on mornings when they had to wake up early and are nursing a headache born of a restless night. They can't rest their skulls against the window of the moving vehicle and in the vibrations broadcast by the steel wheels and metal rails discover the thinness of their bones. Nor can they smile for no other reason then that this vibration isn't unpleasant, and that the dirty windows and a cloudy yellow-gray morning turn sharp sunlight into feathers. They have to travel in a kind of seclusion, surrounded by tinted windows and personality. The impulse propelling them through their agenda is always a matter of image, never one of bare-boned necessity. It is sad that they are insulated by this layer of superfluousness. I remember thinking this before I moved to L.A.