East vs West
Theme: Best of All (#39), taken from 101_kisses
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Notes: Hollywood 'verse
The plane touched down sometime around 9 pm, and when he exited the large building - his black, non-descript roller luggage bumping along behind him - he had to pause to shed his jacket, unwind his scarf, and yank off his beanie.
‘Eighty degrees year-round? Paradise my ass.'
He quickly flagged down the Flyaway bus that would take him into the valley. Sparing a polite nod for the driver, he climbed aboard and collapsed into a window seat.
After the bus picked up enough people to fill it more than halfway, the driver stood at the head of the bus and introduced himself as Juan.
'Typical.'
Juan spoke in accented English, explaining how much the trip would cost, how long it would take, and calling attention to the bathroom - which was welcome for anyone to use, but if they could hold it, would be most appreciated.
Finally, the bus was on its way.
Kalan ignored all this, instead resting his forehead against the cool glass. He stared unseeingly out the window at the space-like restaurant with its four extending legs lit in a ménage of blue and pink. The brightly lit, white "LAX" letters stood out, particularly in the night sky. But all Kalan could think of was how much he appreciated being able to hop on the T with no conversation and head home through the underground of Boston, devoid of gaudy lights.
From the freeway, he could see palm trees, silhouetted against the backdrop of cloudy pollution, Christmas lights snaking up their tall trunks and cradling their large leaves.
'And what's with all the plastic Christmas trees? No one buys real ones out here.'
As the 405 once more crested the home of the valley girl, and currently, unfortunately, of Kalan, he saw the lights of the many people spread across the basin. It made him miss the illusion of Boston being packed into so many square miles and being far more accessible than anything on the west coast could be.
When the bus finally arrived at the terminal and Kalan had stuffed his luggage into the trunk, he slumped in the front seat and took a deep breath before starting the car. He did not generally hate driving, but it seemed like everything in LA was so far from everything else.
He pulled into his parking spot and trudged into his home. Leaving his luggage by the door, he went straight to the shower. If the two cities had anything in common, it was that one needed a shower after any ride in any bus.
Kalan tiredly tugged on a shirt as his doorbell rang. Squaring the peephole with his fingers, he peered through the opening with one eye. Mia stood, nearly posed, on his doorstep, wearing a mini-skirt, a cowl-neck top, and sandals.
He opened the door and she passed by him, not waiting for the invitation that would not come. His nose alerted him to a delicious presence and his eyes zeroed in on her hands.
"I know carne asada fries are one of the only things you deem worthy about California, but," she huffed, "let's be honest, there are no decent fries north of SD. So I got you the next best thing."
She held out a white paper bag with a red-roofed building set against an LA skyline. Along the top, it proclaimed, “If you don’t see the shack, take it back.” “Original Tommy’s” stamped the bottom.
“Chili on the side?” he asked cautiously.
"And a half-and-half milkshake," she said, holding up a cup. "And fries, some of which I ate. I even got you a fork.” She sat herself on her corner of the couch. "How was Boston? Did it snow?"
Kalan thought about how much he'd been hating the warm weather and LA in general. But as he scooped some chili onto his burger, he figured LA wasn't too bad. And even if it was - he took a bit of his burger and gazed at Mina’s tanned, naked legs - there were definitely compensations.
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Notes: Hollywood 'verse
The plane touched down sometime around 9 pm, and when he exited the large building - his black, non-descript roller luggage bumping along behind him - he had to pause to shed his jacket, unwind his scarf, and yank off his beanie.
‘Eighty degrees year-round? Paradise my ass.'
He quickly flagged down the Flyaway bus that would take him into the valley. Sparing a polite nod for the driver, he climbed aboard and collapsed into a window seat.
After the bus picked up enough people to fill it more than halfway, the driver stood at the head of the bus and introduced himself as Juan.
'Typical.'
Juan spoke in accented English, explaining how much the trip would cost, how long it would take, and calling attention to the bathroom - which was welcome for anyone to use, but if they could hold it, would be most appreciated.
Finally, the bus was on its way.
Kalan ignored all this, instead resting his forehead against the cool glass. He stared unseeingly out the window at the space-like restaurant with its four extending legs lit in a ménage of blue and pink. The brightly lit, white "LAX" letters stood out, particularly in the night sky. But all Kalan could think of was how much he appreciated being able to hop on the T with no conversation and head home through the underground of Boston, devoid of gaudy lights.
From the freeway, he could see palm trees, silhouetted against the backdrop of cloudy pollution, Christmas lights snaking up their tall trunks and cradling their large leaves.
'And what's with all the plastic Christmas trees? No one buys real ones out here.'
As the 405 once more crested the home of the valley girl, and currently, unfortunately, of Kalan, he saw the lights of the many people spread across the basin. It made him miss the illusion of Boston being packed into so many square miles and being far more accessible than anything on the west coast could be.
When the bus finally arrived at the terminal and Kalan had stuffed his luggage into the trunk, he slumped in the front seat and took a deep breath before starting the car. He did not generally hate driving, but it seemed like everything in LA was so far from everything else.
He pulled into his parking spot and trudged into his home. Leaving his luggage by the door, he went straight to the shower. If the two cities had anything in common, it was that one needed a shower after any ride in any bus.
Kalan tiredly tugged on a shirt as his doorbell rang. Squaring the peephole with his fingers, he peered through the opening with one eye. Mia stood, nearly posed, on his doorstep, wearing a mini-skirt, a cowl-neck top, and sandals.
He opened the door and she passed by him, not waiting for the invitation that would not come. His nose alerted him to a delicious presence and his eyes zeroed in on her hands.
"I know carne asada fries are one of the only things you deem worthy about California, but," she huffed, "let's be honest, there are no decent fries north of SD. So I got you the next best thing."
She held out a white paper bag with a red-roofed building set against an LA skyline. Along the top, it proclaimed, “If you don’t see the shack, take it back.” “Original Tommy’s” stamped the bottom.
“Chili on the side?” he asked cautiously.
"And a half-and-half milkshake," she said, holding up a cup. "And fries, some of which I ate. I even got you a fork.” She sat herself on her corner of the couch. "How was Boston? Did it snow?"
Kalan thought about how much he'd been hating the warm weather and LA in general. But as he scooped some chili onto his burger, he figured LA wasn't too bad. And even if it was - he took a bit of his burger and gazed at Mina’s tanned, naked legs - there were definitely compensations.