So after San Francisco, I hopped on a plane to LA. I’d had two hours of sleep, I was really ill, and generally just exhausted. I was going to be in LA for a week, to see my brother and a couple of friends.
One of my closest friends who I hadn’t seen in a year was picking me up from the airport. He gave me a hug so huge I was actually in pain and had to ask him to let me go, which of course made him laugh and hug me harder. We then drove to a place to have brunch, a little French café (with American-size portions), and then went for a drive around his neighbourhood so he could show me his high school, where he grew up and his house. I met his dad and his dog and saw his room.
Then he announced what we were going to do that day: go for a hike up Runyon Canyon. I asked him if he remembered that I’d had two hours of sleep, was ridiculously ill and kind of unable to breathe, and was normally unfit anyway. He said I’d promised to do whatever he planned. And he knows me well enough to know that I have a “fuck it, let’s give it a shot” attitude.
So we went for a hike. It took longer than it should’ve, but we made it to the top, and it was probably one of the prettiest things I did in LA (because, um, as a city, that place generally just looks like one big gas station).