When the forces of nature known as the Santa Ana’s whip down the boulevard, the neon burns a little hotter and everyone walks a bit crooked. These winds are the perfect excuse for wildness. I joyride the strip all the way to sea, radio blasting, diving into the sunset where Sunset kisses the Pacific. Or maybe I’ll stay in the city, hitting the sun-baked concrete in search of my next big break in this city of angels, fallen or otherwise.