Slow Days, Fast Company: The World, The Flesh, and L.A.

by Eve Babitz

I felt luxuriously involved in an insolvable mystery, my favorite way to feel.

We ran into a discarded lover of mine, Jack, who was trying to ignore me, but his girlfriend’s hat blew across the entrance and I caught it, so he was stuck having to be grateful.

(The only good art director is a retired art director.)

William and I entered the winter season in our summer clothes.

She was America-for-spacious-skies, the reason our boys died gladly in the war.