Los Angeles had no culture of its own, just a large collection of misreadings of the artistic histories of other, proper cities.

I admit that I have sometimes claimed to be Batman in the past. But only when really, really drunk.

Its a strange world. Lets keep it that way.

Santa Monica's only walkable if death is no hurdle. The air's the wrong colour. People put sunglasses on their dogs. It's a hideous place where humans are not welcome and those who stay suffer eight kinds of brain damage.

Magic is the cheat codes for the world.

Cheap! But not as cheap as your girlfriend.

What if I left my memory in the future and I have to catch up to it?