My fondest memories in life involve extremely tall palm trees and congested freeways. The smog that hovers over the greater Los Angeles excites me. The plane descends and my heart begins to race. I am home. The land of beautiful people and undying dreams. Welcome to Hollywood, don’t let this town ruin you. Fake friends, ulterior motives, and bad parenting. All we ever wanted to do was make it. Here? Singularity is valued. Abnormality. Non-conformity. Ripped jeans, fur vests and crop tops that reek of spray paint. We went into a dark alley and unleashed our furious teenage wrath on a brick wall. Every line was a feeling and every color told a story. Little did we know, years later our masterpiece would serve as a backdrop in the photo-shoots of young kids just as confused as we once were. What is silence? What is soil? What does it feel like to hear your own thoughts at night? Our judgement was cloudy. We climbed up to the top of a roof and laid on our backs in hopes of seeing the stars. I squinted so hard. I’d give my life to see the big dipper. It just never really happened. Hollywood Blvd was the closest we ever got to a real star. It’s pretty ironic because the rest of the world would call us stars ourselves.