Back from forth

"I don't know why she's being this way." This half-assed apology was further diminished in its sincerity when the owner of the little yapper of a shit-dog did nothing in an attempt to quiet the thing in its carrier across the aisle and one row back on the jet.

Knowing that if I made a big fuss, I might be the one who suffered the Marshall, I shot him an angry look and muttered, "Just plain rude. Next time, sedate the thing." Why the wife felt a need to defend the dog and its owner escaped me.

"People bring unruly children on the plane..."

"Sedate them too." Or, distract them with an activity, which is what the post-holiday returning mother across the aisle and one row back could have done with her toddler.

A good half hour of this crap going to and leaving the City of Angels like open and closing music selections and the perfect soundtrack for what awaited and, a week later, left behind.

Perhaps the saving grace was that we did not stay in the city proper.

Yet, business called, as did a certain type of culture, and a friend. "Do you think LA is an ugly city?" he asked just as I was thinking that it was just that.

"There is some nice architecture, but it is hidden under a film of dust and grime. The people make me think there is a larger concentration of misery per square mile than many other places." 

"Do you think you could live here if you had to?"

"I suppose so."