“Hi, how are you? I hear it’s going to rain…”
If they say “Well, we need it,” that person will never be my best friend.
If you managed to miss the weather forecast on your clock radio, in the car, on page one of every newspaper with story and more on page 4, and on the marquees, perhaps you will dispense with civilized niceties and get right to it, demand it, “The weather. The forecast! What is it?”
The last two weeks of July should be sun, just sun. No additives, no electrical effects, no sound either, and no rain, NO Rain. None.
In L.A. this neurotic preoccupation with the weather doesn’t exist. The term “weather” means something else: If there is a cloud in the sky and it contains the faintest wisp of grey, that is “weather.”
“Oh, we’re having a little weather,” people mutter glancing up.
This is one of the reasons why I like L.A.
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