Like a con man on the run,L.A.buries its past. Maybe that’s why no one argued when the sentence came down: The Fauborg had to die. I live in a company town where the product is illusion. In the alternate universe ruled by sociopaths who make movies, communication means snappy dialogue, the scalpel trumps genetics, and permanence is mortal sin because it slows down the shoot.L.A.used to have more Victorian mansions than San Francisco but L.A.called in the wrecking ball and all that handwork gave way to thirties bungalows that yielded to fifties dingbats, which were vanquished, in turn, by big-box adult dormitories with walls a toddler can put a fist through. Preservationists try to stem the erosion but end up fighting for the likes of gas stations and ticky-tack motels. [download]
Format : Ebook.Pdf
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