I was restless, looking for somewhere to be.

As my train slipped into Union Station and dusk hit the sky, I first saw it: a reason to believe.

The signs, the light, the history, the night, breathed “Welcome to LA”.

–  the City of Angels – the City of Dreams, but whose?

Mine? I wasn’t even sure what they were. I was alone. With nothing to lose.

The streets were full of cruisers looking for love, lovers looking for what’s next.  And all kinds of dreamers, their arms open wide, looking their best.

I saw families together with somewhere to go. And others apart. Like me, looking for home.

The promise of music,  stories, sweet Pad Nah… Delta Tacos,  Night Market Song… brown-skinned beauties and feral gods …  came through, like an invitation.

The Santa Anas turned the sunset air a luminous blue. 

I wanted a taste of that spicy brew – a drink of the magic, a walk through those views…

I scored a bite of street BBQ –  grilled by three Dreamers happy to make it through another night to work another day–

I stopped in at Hollywood Tang’s for a custard-stuffed Maple Log then Ubered to a  Micky D’s on the Chavez end of the Boulevard that puts chorizo in their breakfast burritos and still makes their tortillas with lard…

Then I wandered back to Olvera – the street where LA. Was born. The smell of frankincense floats over chilies and lime – the history of revolution buried then restored.  Siqueros. La Luz. Olverita’s.  A winged tin heart.

A Posada made its way down the cobbled path, everyone on the street took part: kids, travellers, elders, vagrants, merchants, women and men; everyone became kin.  Faith.  Light.  Family.  Food.  The pleasure of life.  I was welcomed in. 

Now It’s ten past midnight, the sky’s a starless haze. The streets are dotted with food trucks selling hip croquettes and fusion moles. The taste of tomatillos is still sweet on my tongue and there are angels to light my way.

I think I’ll stay.