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LA is Good
Gunshots interrupted brunch while I was chowing down on some freshly toasted tortilla chips. The gunshots traveled faster than my hand from the guac bowl to my mouth.
It was the day after Thanksgiving, and my little sister Jordan and her husband Max were visiting from Portland. I took them to Salazar, an outdoor restaurant in Frogtown with the best prickly pear margaritas on this side of Hillhurst. I held the other half of the tortilla chip near my mouth as a short stalky man hauled ass up the street and through the restaurant. “He’s shooting at me! He has a gun!”
Great, I thought. My sister will never move here now.
Whenever Jordan visits, I try to show her how great Los Angeles is so that one day, she’ll decide to live here, too. I love taking her to all the great restaurants, knowing she’ll recognize actors at nearby tables. We go shopping at the good Crossroads in West Hollywood, to see the rose blooms at Huntington Gardens, and to watch humpback whales from our outdoor seating at Malibu Seafood. But every time Jordan visits, something bad happens. This time, it was an active shooter.
The vibe went from lively and fun to chaotic and scary within seconds. Jordan’s life flashed…
