Winding down Mullholland Drive was fun in a small car, and I allowed full range of twists and turns until at last I was in the flatlands, where I found Santa Monica Boulevard and headed to the beach.
I didn’t want to swim, I just wanted space, and once I’d parked the car, I sought the sand. Joining the throngs of strangers, I found them suddenly important, maybe because they were of the larger world that I sometimes forgot was there. Families frolicked in the surf, small children clinging to parents, others playing in the sand while dogs romped in and out of the water. A sea of blankets and towels spread over the sand, most occupied by tan-craving bodies.
I walked south, though direction hardly mattered. If I kept on long enough I’d reach Venice. If I went the other way, Malibu. I tried
