I looked up the weather at around 5:30pm. “76°, feels like 76°.” I set up the mini-Weber on my front steps and at around sunset, I lit the coals and took these pixelly photos. In the dark, I grilled artichokes, short ribs, and chicken breast while sipping Sapporo from a glass. It feels like summer has begun here in Los Angeles. Here, there is no spring. Maybe it will rain again. Maybe not. There are only two seasons, really. Summer and Rain. Slumlords roof their buildings with Scotch tape and construction paper and pray for global warming to come faster. At least for today, the air feels sweet and light, the smoke wets my appetite, and this dusty little corner emulates perfection.
I’m a Story Artist and Illustrator living in Los Angeles with my wife, daughter, and three cats. In my earliest memory, I am drawing a picture. Three decades later, the picture is still being drawn. It’s one I never want to finish.