Leg 4: Las Vegas to Los Angeles
As the authorities chased us out of Vegas (apparently “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” doesn’t apply to desecrating the corpse of Joey Bishop), Madden and I hauled ass through the desert up to his home in beautiful northern California.
Ahhhhh California. The Golden Coast. The Land of Pixie Dreams. The Sailboat on the River to Valhalla with a Brief Stop-Off at the Weed Dispensary. Vacationland.
It felt good to get back to California. While I am a native New Englander, I have fully embraced my recent rebirth as a laid back West Coaster. Plus - and I can’t emphasize this enough - I HAAAAAAATE snow. Nothing ruins my mood like even the faintest powdering of the devil’s white powder. My Boston friends try to convince me the snow isn’t all that bad. “What about all the earthquakes and fires in California?” they say. “And isn’t Hollywood full of transactional relationships with desperate actors and sycophantic phonies?”
Snow is worse than all of them. Combined.
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