A forceful wind blew through the city at six o’clock. With it, the fronds from twenty foot palm trees came down with crashing thuds, cleaving placid debris, scattering waste across streets and denting parked cars. It’s a hurricane! It’s also lending itself quite nicely to the pagan festivities approaching us this weekend (though the weather here is expected to be a balmy 80 degrees that day). The unexpected blustery chaos, having rolled skulls and bones from one neighbors yard to another, uprooted tombstones and cocked the devil pitchforks, ushered in an expectant mood of suspenseful glee. It’s cold, it’s eerie, and there are strange sounds everywhere outside. The inflexible (and kind of thorny) palm fronds look like witches brooms – as if they’d been out and about and gotten knocked off their feet, losing their sticks in the process.
Release the brooms:
NO SAINTS IN L.A. 
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