Dear Los Angeles, I wish I could write-you-off as just another monster that has chewed-me-up and spit-me-out, sort of like my first job in advertising. Those who left their comfort-zones on the East-Coast, or Mid-West and traveled here with dreams of fame and fortune will always have their homes to return to, thus the basis of the term “Back East”. It’s not only a statement of what’s behind them, but it is where they are going back and returning to, once the West Coast monstropolis has finished draining their souls of dreams and ambition. But I can’t get rid of you that easily. I was born and raised in the belly of the beast itself with all it’s hell and fury destroying everything around me as I came to age. I have no place to go BACK to, which is why I must settle for what I’ve got and dredge the depths of your pretentious, phoney, and sunglasses-clad landscape and overpriced, undervalued homes with zero hope of ever being on top, for something worth savoring, enjoying and eating.