First lines of the novel I am unable to write today:
"Steam rose from the pavement in Echo Park, outside of El Chubasco. It was the sixth day of a heatwave, but that Sunday afternoon's clouds had finally delivered on their promise.
It didn't do much to cool things off, but brought with it the hope of cooler days. Ariana and Sonny stepped out of El Paisano into the stickiness of the evening, looking north, then south — taking in the emptiness of Sunset Blvd…”