I had made the logical choice: a hotel on Century Boulevard, close to LAX, with a free shuttle service. Then someone made a scheduling mistake, and I had two nights to cover before my departure. I went to ground in Inglewood.
I gave my monthly free legal clinic on La Cienega near Centinela for seven years. I knew the neighborhood, and it had everything I needed. Even after a five-year absence, I felt at home. I had passed by The Green Horse Bar, with a statue on top, many times. It is heavily gated in the front, and I have never been inside. St. Jerome’s Church is also protected by a high iron gate, no doubt a protective measure. Young men congregated outside a dispensary owned by a national celebrity. I counted at least four chicken restaurants: as they say “A chicken has a short life in Los Angeles.” RVs were lined up alongside Centinela, cramped spaces for living. The Ralph’s and the Ross Dress for Less are still there. A new Starbucks offers its products on the east side of La Cienega these days. It was 99 degrees in LA, but only 88 in Inglewood.

The three-mile taxi ride to the airport took thirty minutes. When my driver, Jose, found out I was a divorce attorney, he joked “El matrimonio es como el demonio.” We agreed that cash is still “el rey.”
Now I am back in my autumn-chilled high desert valley, but I will always love LA.




