Five years ago, whenever a friend asked me why I’d given up on LA, it was obvious where the clichés ended and an actual opinion began: I hated the people, the prices, the traffic, the weather—
Yes. It’s the same all the time. It’s creepy. I like seasons—
Weren’t you only there four months?
Well, yeah, but I was there for what should have been winter, and what should have been spring, and nothing changed—
I dunno. I think I’d like it if it were seventy and sunny all the time…
And so on.
Tom, who lives in LA, sent me the following email the other day: “Dude, trying to do this Weather thing. It’s hard. Going to take some practice.” Only with like, a hundred ellipses, the way Tom always does. If you strike through his words, I swear, he’s writing in Morse code.
When I wrote Tom back, I tried to encourage him by pointing out that limitations breed creativity, but what I was really thinking was: How the hell are you supposed to write about the weather when it never changes?
Evan Allgood's work has appeared in McSweeney's, The Millions, LA Review of Books, The Toast, and The Billfold. He lives in Brooklyn and contributes regularly to Paste. Follow and maybe later unfollow him on Twitter @evoooooooooooo.