He rode his bicycle up the dead-end street of Whitley Terr, just off of Cahuenga. Once he reached the end of the cul-de-sac he looked off of the hill and down into the valley. For a moment his eyes played a trick on him and he saw the ocean. Sprawling, grand, the sun’s reflection bouncing from the slowly pulsating shape of the water. He did not stop to wonder why Hollywood didn’t exist anymore in his view. He should have been able to see the Kodak theatre from here. He knew there were still street performers and young men selling their CDs of poorly produced Hip-Hop music outside of the train station, but his eyes couldn’t adjust to it.
He moved on.
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