This place must have been really cool in 1960 or whenever it was built. The restrooms in the united terminal feel like prison.
My ticket lists no seat, only boarding priority BP2, no seat. When I asked if I needed a seat assignment the woman looks at my ticket, and says that she'll call me soon. She is evasive about my seat assignment. Even when I ask if my seat I guaranteed. I'll call you soon is all she says. They just announced boarding.
And it is just by fucking seating area. Why could she not just say that?
She just called me as a STANDBY passenger. Why didn't she say that I was standby when I asked her, am I standby? I'll call you about your seat.
But I'm on the plane.
This whole airport, from the exterior, to TSA, to boarding the plane, seems like prison.
I need to look into flights from other la airports.
Bob hope airport is a dream.
As I eat my take out, at the laundromat, The Dr.s is on tv.
They are describing, in detail, the dry heaves.
there is a certain muddiness in the shadows here. an almost sepia tone, maybe from the smog. it could be considered romantic.
The party next door has been going on for hours. I am wearing earplugs, and the oom-pah and the male harmonies of the music sounds like its coming from inside my head.
Fran just got back from the doctors to get some staples removed. Fran and Mags aren't getting along at the moment. So she decided to hop up on the back of the couch to get some Eve time.
there is a supermarket down the street from the hotel. It has all of the same stuff as the store downstairs. They have the mexican brands, the produce, the cakes; and a taqueria/deli; and a wall of mexican meats, you could almost run down the entire pig in the glass display cases along the wall, from hoof to snout.
if they can't see themselves in a mirror?
