Just a Little Higher

The roof of my garage is more perfect that I can remember. Whether sipping a heavy Cabernet and reading an scholastic analysis of the city of Oxford in literature or drinking Redhook ESB and listening to Ke$ha with newly old friends, it's simply excellent.

The sun hits it completely, covering every inch that isn't hidden by the deep green grape vines that crawl up the side of the structure. The breezes can be rare or lullingly regular, and a cube of ice on the small of your back is shockingly refreshing until you forget about it and it's just another part of the atmosphere.

Alone or with friends, quietly shimmering or glittering with excitement, there's nothing like this space, lifted just 12 feet above the grimy, glittery, false little city.

Yes, I've rediscovered my favorite place in Los Angeles.