Turn the key. Drop a smile into the chamber of a '76 chevy. Aim it down route 101 towards the truth of all consciousness. Don't say "cheese" say, "good morning" We're all tourists here.
Welcome to a place with only a working title. I bet you caught every green light on the way in. The natural habitat for the great white toothed agent selling seaside, pre-fabricated dreams. No stairs necessary. In this abode. We have transcended enough to get you safely to your penthouse. Out back we've got the exit, but we call it the beginning. A black hole trap riged to flip off time and space. Cash? yes, we will take it.
I thought California would be different. Ah well. Who cares. I think i'm gonna stay.