![]() No one seems to know what Los Angeles is, exactly: city of angels, revenge city, or something else. “That’s what I thought,” he said smugly, and zoomed away. “Based on the title,” I said, “yeah, probably.” It was early in the morning, just past sunrise. “If I made a movie, Revenge City, would you watch it?” ![]() The man skidded to a halt and growled, “If I made a movie called Revenge City, would you go watch it?” Perhaps it had recently belonged to a 12-year-old boy. His bike was sized for a 12-year-old boy. T wo weeks after my wife and I moved to Los Angeles, a large man pedaled up to me in a parking lot in West Hollywood.
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