Through the streets of Los Angeles


My daughter Valentina and her lovely husband Juan Delcan live happily in Los Angeles. They are the V&J firm. I have been there with them and I have had a wonderful time in a beautiful area and in a beautiful and splendid house, but surely far from Wilshire Boulevard or Road Drive or Melrose Avenue, not to mention the streets that have proper Mexican names. I say this because on my iPod I see Arnold Schwarzenegger being chased by a perverse and implacable being from the future on one of the busiest avenues and in cars or on a motorcycle moving at breakneck speed colliding with trucks loaded with explosive fuel, but these two beings from the future emerge unscathed from the ferocious obstacles they encounter and continue to persecute each other without mercy. I also discover that in the beautiful and peaceful valley of San Fernando there are beautiful mansions that are nests of vampires exterminated by a fake pool cleaner and under his command there are some sullen and rude experts in killing who use rifles with silver bullets and garlic and they launch deadly bombs also made of garlic. Vampires in this area of ​​Los Angeles are normal-looking beings, good-natured housewives or helpful bureaucrats who, when angry, open their mouths wildly and offer their ferocious fangs to view. These Californian vampires die again shot or decapitated with excessive violence and their fangs are torn from their jaws and sold in a legal market for vampire fangs whose prices fluctuate and are valued according to the age, race and social segment of those who succumb to the garlic combined with the silver that becomes the enemy kryptonite of the numerous Draculas that walk happily by day or by night thirsty for blood because they are modern monsters that have nothing to do with the distant land of the Carpathians, they make fun of the useless and ineffective cross of the Catholics and enjoy half-naked in the California sun.

The vampires of the San Fernando Valley who speak North American English as their own language differ from those of Transylvania because they have unusual speeds when they decide to attack humans and adopt grotesque forms and age in a matter of seconds, becoming abominable monsters of evil, they contort their bodies and take prodigious and improbable jumps every time the shot hits them and the rooms of the beautiful mansion where they hide are reduced to rubble and the exterminators, all of them with beards and ruffians, dedicate themselves to ripping the treasure out of the fangs like if they were looking for the ivory of African elephants in the invented jungles that Tarzan, the ape man by Edgar Rice Burroughs knew.

As soon as the undercover agent or the righteous policewoman arrives at the place where the drug gangsters meet, they begin to be shot down, just like the Draculas of San Fernando, but there are so many of them and they die so often that no one can count them. as the agents of the DEA or the FBI advance at a lion’s pace pointing their weapons at their victims who continue to fall like mangoes from my house.

I regret that the times I have stayed in Los Angeles I have never witnessed the violent car chases firing machine gun fire as I see in the movies that Netflix offers me and harass me from the iPod. Cars at unsustainable speed that move forward constantly changing channels in tunnels that never end, over very high bridges, on highways or bursting obstacles of all volumes or nature, shooting, bloodying one of the drivers and overturning the car in catastrophic flips and exploding in the air. Or just the opposite: finding with amazing ease where and how to park the car on some street in the vast city because, really, it is difficult to do so. The municipality sets too many prohibitions And only by a miracle does the driver find where to park the car. The entrance to the museum, to the show and even to the cathedral (which when I visited it seemed wonderful and spectacular but not very close to the spirituality that it is supposed to have) may be free, but parking places the user with surely higher sums than the cost of the entrance if any. Everything in Los Angeles fascinates because one dreams of living in cinematographic violence or suddenly watching Peg Entwistle, the frustrated theater actress commit suicide again and again from the top of the letter H of the ostentatious and famous word Hollywood nailed to the wall! side of a hill called Lee!

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Through the streets of Los Angeles