Here are a couple of California stories — one about a fading landmark district, the other about a crooked railroad. One is a Southern California classic. The other is in San Francisco’s backyard.
It’s always a bit of a culture shock for San Franciscans to spend time in Southern California. Maybe it’s the freeways, the traffic jams, the palm trees, the Los Angelesness of the whole place. “Look,” said my companion, “they are selling Dodger Dogs in the gas stations.”
Times never stand still in L.A. Everybody’s tailgating. Slow streets? That must be one of those quaint Northern California affectations…