Coasting by Sarah Herrington I enter Los Angeles and it’s wide as night. The airport is a net of gold that just keeps growing out and out until it makes up the whole city. From the back of the cab billboards swath landscape, rectangles form horizons: Freeze the Fat, Gentleman’s Club, 1-800-Car-Rental, The Hunger Games. The cab drops me off underneath The Gentleman’s Club ad on Sepulveda, a perpetually windblown peroxide girl with candy lips. She blows a welcome kiss.