The first segment of the run threw up some new neural stimulation. The 110 growls and chokes north to south like an animated Berlin Wall. It keeps West (Elysian Park) separated from East (Chinatown) and I'd only, until now, known one way through. Tonight I found another.
The footbridge that took me over the Sunday evening dribble of traffic below was just like every other freeway footbridge: a caged billboard advertising the shifting sands of gangland territorialism.
After the bridge, I took Broadway north and stumbled upon the confluence of the Arroyo Seco and the LA River about which I'd read and talked. There wasn't much fluence in the confluence. But it meant I could fit another brightly coloured piece into my mental jigsaw of Angeleno road, track and river.
After the concretefluence, I zig-zagged north and west to join San Fernando Road. And then, with ominous timing, darkness plummeted and obscured one grim nothing with a veil of different grim nothing.
