Fifth Session: Parking Lots

There are a preponderance of parking lots in this city. By "this city" I am referring to the one the Foundation saw fit to send me to, Los Angeles, which is a word in the Spanish language referring to massive, undimensional creatures with multiple wings, faces of lions, eagles, and wheels, and who execute the wrath of some ineffable fellow referred to by such a bevy of names on this sphere it would press the limits of the internet were I to attempt to catalog each syllabically-ominous one and whose powers are--but are not limited to--conjuring pillars of fire that stretch from the heavens to the sea, turning wood into serpents, blasting apart infidels, and sentencing the humans to everlasting bliss or infinite gnashing of teeth. Parking lots? Where do these people sleep at night?

These angels, as agents of this almighty, are no laughing matter. I see them littered across greeting cards and Renaissance frescoes as fat (shall I go so far as to utilize the epochal term "Rubinesque"?), fluffy infants with wings. What is this madness' cause? Have these humans not read their holy scriptures? These angels are horrifying, terrifying, awesome in the way I have yet to hear the word properly used--inspiring awe and shrill, mind-numbing fear. By the galaxy's asshole, what hath we wrought in leaving this bog of a sphere alone?

On a related note, parking lots. These Angelinos, as they call themselves (to my unlimited dread), have decided that rather than packing up their (many, many) possessions and heading for more variable, less-populated climes, that it is far better for them to ceaselessly expand the city until its borders form a vague, and perhaps form-less, border somewhere up, around, beyond its intersecting freeways. This city is massive and its components ungainly. Because their eclectic nature emphasizes an individualistic exploration public transportation is shot, blown apart by the millions of petroleum-burning personal carriages that litter their streets like so much gunk in a toejam. Hence their parking lots, most of which are not free. But, as I've found after only a few rotations here, here, nothing is free.

Now each day I must expend my waking sanity combatting the very real fear that I must feed the manic meters haphazardly functional upon their useless sidewalks and the less substantive but still ill-boding suspicion that these Judeo-Christian beasties are hovering in judgement above my immigrant head.

Regarding vegetables I have recently discovered the eggplant. It is the only humorous item I have found in the supermarket and it can be distilled into a superb Baba Ghanoush.