the los angeles sun is a double-edged sword—an immediate benefit when moving here, a state of reprieve where the sunshine almost compels a state of happiness. yet when that feeling dissipates, or the opposite sustains, the sun grows to be an enemy. it becomes a guilty conscience—look, the sun is out, why aren’t you happy?—day after day after day.

the streets, strewn with discarded slivers of lives whose stories are unknown but the results the same: left out to die. empty chairs, ripped cushions, broken mirrors, all bathed in the romantic glow of the summer afternoon. the environment pressures one toward ignorance—embracing an outlook that only focuses on the light, keeping the shadows of the city—& thus the world—at bay.