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Maybe I link emotionally too easily. I pity that the lost sweatshirt along with the broken coffee mug. Maybe I've always wanted a house. An area where I knew the rules and cared mildly for the sports clubs, felt nostalgic for the cuisine. Perhaps I just went here at the ideal time. Whatever it is, '' I love my town, and it hurts my feelings when you whine about it pitilessly. That's not to say you should not complain, of course. I'm a complaint advocate of the highest order; that is how things behave great (or even better), even when you rebuild them once they've been pinpointed. And of course LA's budget is in the bathroom, it has become the bathroom, we take years to locate serial killers and oh how you hate the traffic, nobody reads a book anymore, everyone has an agent -- you employ the phrase "soulless" possibly, or invoke Bret Easton Ellis, and person, you won't even think about what Tupac would say to you. KDAY, this day, was sense Tupac like nobody's business. Nothing but Tupac would do. Tupac later Tupac after Tupac, and that I didn't change it as I sat in the traffic -- God, you think, how terrible to be in a car with your thoughts, not able to move away from these! Don't you just hate when cars and immobility converge! Does not it get the goat nearly as much as murder does! -- wondering why I need to take it so personally that a day spent in Los Angeles without hearing somebody wonder why God would earn a place so buoyant to humanity will be a day spent at the home not reading the internet or talking with anybody whatsoever. Why should I care? I'm here and it feels as though it's my hometown. It isn't my hometown, not technically, but it seemed so pleased to receive me that it became somehow mine. New York never loved me back as tough as Los An...