THE off the plane.
It's like being in Mexico. A little Latin in this world Rican. I love it.
THE first day.
It's pouring. Not so much.
LaCienega Blvd. An omelet mixed vegetables and a regular coffee not regular at all (like a soup that is the trick). A tour of the supermarket and cinoche.
It has nothing to do with New York. I realize how LA is great. Immense. Infinite ... So that roughly three quarters of the time they were happening in his car.
Here we do not work, ever. We run in a tracksuit, with a protein shake his hand. Detached houses and palm trees replace the endless skyscrapers.
There are good women dressed all in pink strolling with a Yorkie in their bag Louis Vuitton (Pink too obviously).
THE 2nd day.
Filming in Santa Monica. It is like shooting a movie in a movie. A word of abyss. Pleonastic really.
The sun made me fall jacket. I saw the sea and palm trees.
It's hard to be stressed ...
THE 3rd day.
"Wow it's beautiful, it looks like the Riviera in America."
Sure, it's beautiful ...
Then you begin to take the game are not left his sunglasses, you drive with Lady Gaga way into his radio and say "hi how are you doing?" to all those we meet. It is very cool. The contact is so easy ... Moreover, all looks easy. It feels no stress.
It's like a holiday all year. (Unless we dine at 18h).
THE 4th and 5th days.
RAS
I eat fajitas. I work in a surprisingly relaxing.
It's nice. Everyone smiled. The
Bithume and quail have stopped me miss.
THE 6th day.
Warning I'm starting to feel like doing anything.
As to dress in sweatpants and eat that stuff chelous. To buy a dog and go for a run to Venice. To have a car of bolos, with tinted windows. Have an orange complexion and smooth my hair.
A French quotes me proudly The Eag of:
- You know California is magic! It's just like in Hotel California " Any Time You Can checkout you like, But You Can Never Leave."
Oh yeah? I'll never be able to leave?
THE 7th day.
Ok I think he's right. I can not leave here.
It's too nice. Safe and warm ...
THE 8th day.
I'm going jogging brunch.
I look at the photos I took. Some of me. Damn, that's it ... I have wrinkles I almost want to fuck me in the face of botox.
In a park, I told a guy who ran naked torso: "congratulations on your body," followed by a "handsome!" (In French text).
But what happens whore? I get a guy from Les Halles uninhibited ...
THE last day.
's it, I'm on the verge of getting tattooed a portrait of Tupac Shakur.
Quickly, I place this size, I become completely crazy ...
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