Indecisive and yet utterly compelled, they land on two feet in the City of Angels. Both of them are indulged in denim. The Camaro is waiting to take them wherever they need to go. It does not offer advice or opinions, it assumes the function they need: to get them around, fast. This place which he knows intimately is surely speaking differently to him, in affectionate longing, in familiar expressions. She has never seen the West Coast outside of movies and a dream she once had. For an excruciating moment, it seems like anything is possible. “Thank god,” she thinks to herself as it passes, “Ambition is exhausting.” She wants her cappuccino (decaf), a new hat, and to spend some time laughing her head off. It’s the simple things she is the most thankful for. You’ve seen one beach, you’ve seen ’em all. But he drove the red Camaro to the sea in the light of morning just to prove her wrong. And then again that evening, they raced the sun home just to see it set on the water from their window. Los Angeles, sister, let’s meet again soon.