Literary Nonfiction. From LA SKETCHBOOK: "Which is why iths time for me to move to the steps outside my front door, where I can enjoy the breeze that comes and goes as it wishes. Too bad houses in California have no basements, where it's always cooler; if they did, I would break into one now. It's so hot that I can't even hide in my bedroom, which is located on the second level of our apartment, and includes just one window, which is more like an arrowslit, that's how tiny and useless it is. Not only does it not let an adequate amount of fresh air in—and what does blow inside is mostly dust and soot—it hardly provides any daylight, forcing us to turn on the light even when sunshine reigns outside. To have to turn on the light during the day in sunny Southern California pretty much fits the definition of 'tragedy.'"
