We drove in a black horseless carriage across broad expanses of asphalt. I was surprised to find the I-5 and I-10 freeways have as much appeal as a soggy rutted road in the middle of winter. The journey lasted ninety minutes, during which time Miss Fong and I waited in line behind other carriages as at times we were proceeding at walking pace.
We arrived at a store called Trader Joe’s and, after circling, found a spot in the car park. I begged leave to stop in at the store, (which I found preferable to Tesco). We bought Cadbury and scones as other travelers have said there is little food at the oddly named Smash Box Studios, a duchy owned by the grandsons of cosmetics duke, Max Factor.
Miss Fong and I then caught a public coach over to Smash Box Studios, where there was a long queue. There were many young women in mourning – never have I seen so much black. To my shock, a feather-haired gentleman was engaged in a mild flirtation with one of the widows. It was not until Miss Fong indicated that indeed in Los Angeles, wearing black needn’t mean they’re widows. As such, we spoke to one of the ladies at length. Sadly, I’ve concluded most of the women are spinsters.