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.

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