Wicked & wondrous LA, with your honeysuckle breath & bullet deaths, your starlets & starlight, last-minute decisions & rear-end collisions. You’re either blowing kisses to the dreamers or crank-calling the broken-hearted. Wicked & wondrous LA, with your liposuctioned ego & wounds that never heal. Your songbirds are assassins. Your treacherous storms yield to clear blue skies more sparkling than jewels. Wicked & wondrous LA, your lost lovers exchange memories in dark alleyways, mistaking one another for home. In the evening streetlight, the illuminated faces of your city’s inhabitants are small slices of heaven fallen from the sky.