Gay piano bar near me

Apart from passing through the overwhelming, smog-filled circular behemoth of LAX, I had never visited Los Angeles prior to the two-day job interview that led me to live in the city for over five years. During that interview, a company manager took me on an expedition to visit neighborhoods where my family and I might settle. Halfway through, I called my husband in tears. “All the schools look appreciate Soviet-era prisons,” I said, thinking of my son who would need to attend elementary school somewhere in this sprawling urban area. “I just can’t visualize us here.”

Later in the day, after visiting the West Side and the Valley and a blur of other neighborhoods, we drove under the Freeway and into Silver Lake. It wasn’t too flashy; there were hills; and it lacked the desolate stretch that characterizes much of LA on first look. In fact, it felt positively leafy fix amid a city that seemed starkly un-green to me—especially coming from Atlanta, a city in a forest. It also had, in its people, a thread of old-school bohemia that made me undergo instantly at home.