Happy birthday, Los Angeles. You turned 241 on September 4, 2022, but no one said anything. The city government wrote something for your last birthday when you turned 240, but this year it seems they just gave up. Your own government ghosted you. This makes me sad, and frankly a little mad, because I love you.
I’m sorry that no one thanked you for this strange otherworldly world you’ve given us: the shocks of hot pink bougainvillea; the buzz of hummingbirds; the strange winding steep streets where it’s terrifying to park your car; the monstrously large agave plants that tower over us; the trails above the city where you can run into coyotes (that somehow remind of me B-list f*ck bois) and rattlesnakes and the plant that you can make ricin from, if you paid attention in chemistry class or even to Breaking Bad.