Suddenly, there you are, humming along with the windows down. It comes rushing in, the air, with its large mix of salt, but also in it the wind-spun mix of beach, crab shells, fresh towels and coconut sunscreen. Gasoline, beer and sandy magazines.
In my old car, maybe a tinge of worn out bushings and half a plastic Coke bottle, drizzled with motor oil. All of this hangs in the air with the particles of the Los Angeles coast, featuring notes from my favorite songs, movie clippings and book passages.
There are certain elements of this stretch of land that seem almost basic to its composition. A kind of PCH DNA. There will be a massive rock. There will be a van and guaranteed a person will be changing out of, or into, a wetsuit. There will be a place that serves fish. A seaside home that will have you projecting your own life into it.