But maybe in Southern California we were burned out by the number of serial killers roaming the landscape throughout the seventies and into the eighties, crisscrossing each other on the freeways and through the canyons and boulevards, hunting for victims hitchhiking at the beaches and waiting at bus stops, hanging out at gas-station diners up the coast and stumbling drunk out of bars, from Glendale to Oceanside, Westminster to Redding, Cathedral City to Long Beach, strewing mutilated corpses, extravagantly tortured with steel pipes and broken glass, in dumps and sand dunes and forests and
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