When I first moved in with you, I wondered which underpass singer Anthony Kiedis would get high under during his drug-addicted days.
“Under the bridge downtown is where I drew some blood. Under the bridge downtown, I could not get enough. Under the bridge downtown, forgot about my love. Under the bridge downtown, I gave my life away.” - Under the Bridge, Red Hot Chili Peppers
He wrote about this in a song called "Under the Bridge," a love letter to LA where he talks about loneliness and perhaps his darkest days. I adopted this as my own anthem for the past year I shacked up with you. Now I have some parting words that I need to get off my chest.
Goodbye Los Angeles. It’s been one hell of a year, wouldn’t you say? I never tried to hide how I felt about you; I never loved as some do. It’s true; I’m leaving you for another. I could tell you who, but would it even matter? All you need to know is that I’ll finally be happy again. I was never happy with you. At times thankful, but never happy, and always lonely. So now it’s time to say goodbye as I pack up my life and take it somewhere else. I promise to visit, but only on my terms and only when it benefits me.
Goodbye coffee shop. You gave me a place to go when I needed to feel productive or just be around other humans for a little while. The first night I visited you, there was a live comedy event and there were regular live performances every week after that from local jazz bands to indie rock groups. I never ordered your coffee or your bags of kale chips, but I remember the day I used your bathroom when my stomach turned sour halfway through a morning run. I penguin waddled half a mile to get to you and barely made it to the toilet. I waited a few weeks before I went back.
Goodbye Hollywood and your busy streets. I admit you were fun to walk around but never to drive through. I’ll miss your street performers and your flashing lights. I’ll miss the historic buildings. You were where I had my first date, just a few months ago. We went to the Arclight, the grossly overpriced theater that has a full-service restaurant and sells cocktails that you can bring into the movie. I went to work all dressed up then fought traffic to try to get there on time. Then I spent over an hour looking for parking before I finally caved and paid to park in the structure. I still waited for my date for over two hours as she made her through heavy traffic caused by an accident and freeway construction. I had to swap tickets to later show times twice.
Tonight I come back to Hollywood to see a movie with my buddy who is helping me move. I see the difference in how I drive through Vine street. I’m no longer afraid of you, Hollywood. I navigate your streets like it’s my own neighborhood. I know now that a yellow light means speed up and that a red light is an invitation for at least two more cars to race through the intersection. I park confidently as I watch a movie in the same theater where I had my first date.
Goodbye Downtown. I could walk over to you from where I lived. I finally got to live out a childhood dream of going to the biggest video game trade show in the country at the Los Angeles Convention Center. I walked a mile to the weeklong convention every day passing from the dirty hot streets into a large air-conditioned convention center. Over the course of this experience, I met several of my idols in the gaming press which culminated in me sneaking into an exclusive after party where I ate my weight in free pizza and played Mario Kart with my heroes in an underground nightclub.
Goodbye neighbors. And I don’t mean the people living in the homes on my block. I actually didn’t know any of their names. My neighbors, and perhaps my only friends in that whole damn city, were the people living on benches and in box forts under freeway overpasses. I fed you whenever I could. I brought you groceries when the cashier at the market tried to kick you out. I prayed for you and shared my sandwiches with you when I was jogging home. You were my friends and my perspective. You reminded me that even though I slept on the floor of a room with cockroaches, at least I had a roof over my head and food (probably tacos) in my belly. For my last night, I drove around with to-go boxes of food and gift cards I got from work and passed out provisions to anyone I saw who needed help. I wish I could give you more and I wish you the best.
Goodbye taco truck. When I met you, you had a B rating which excited me for some reason. As a taco connoisseur, I’ve eaten from dozens of taco joints and my standards are gastronomically high. Never in my life have I ever eaten tacos as wholly delicious as the ones from your yellow truck. I ordered in Spanish through the window and packed bags of onions and cilantro and extra limes for my beer. I walked there from my place a couple times a week and indulged as a way to curb my loneliness and insecurity. It helped a little, or so I believed. A year later, you have an A rating but I don’t fault you for it. I’ll miss you the most. I grab a few tacos before I hit the road for good.
As I drive away down the 405, it feels fitting that the sun is setting and I’m listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers. They have a new album out and one song in particular has become my new Los Angeles anthem. It’s called Goodbye Angels and it is blasting in my car as I zoom away from your cold streets. I scream and shout but I don’t look back. I never felt more like an Angelino than the day I left you.
"Say goodbye my love. I can see it in your soul. Say goodbye my love. Thought that I could make you whole. Let your lover sail. Death was made to fail"
