Taking a walk through Los Angeles, past celebrity homes, literary landmarks, and scorched streets.
We are told that Adam Sandler lives here. We point to a house and say: maybe that one! We touch his grass, it is fake. We take photos in T‑shirts that are too small. Mr. Mann also has a house here. At the moment, though, it’s occupied by a friendly Doberman. I sit in his armchair and feel nothing.We take a walk. Mr. Mann isn’t here anymore anyway. Earlier, we visited Mr. Feuchtwanger and Ms. Löffler. They also had a huge house. On their bookshelf sits Mr. Lenz. His poems are in English. There was a fire, they tell us, we were lucky, they tell us. We don’t stay on the street for too long. In Pacific Palisades, people seem suspicious of anyone who goes for a walk.
Later, we read at MacArthur Park. A year ago, ninety people flexed their muscles here. Who exactly is spring waiting for again? Who did Jimmy Webb even mean? Who’s actually one step ahead here? Who follows a dance? How did it go again, Jimmy? MacArthur Park is melting in the dark.
The views expressed in this text are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views or positions of the Goethe-Institut.