As I’d pass from crowded Venice Beach into Marina Del Rey, the crowds thinned until I’d reach a largely deserted pier at the end of a promenade. Turning right, I’d run out over the ocean. There, all of Los Angeles is in the hills behind you or curving around the coastline to the north. The smell of fish blends with the sound of seagulls circling. A fisherman or two linger. In the late afternoons, as the sun begins its plunge into the ocean, you’re running into a dazzling array of colors. Atop a rock wall just beyond the pier, a large American flag flutters in the breeze—the edge of the
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