"If you want a picture of the future, imagine a flip flop stamping on a human face—forever."I had been warned about traffic before moving to LA. I wasn't prepared, however, for the staggering truth of it: a mass of humanity and steel and exhaust forced through a looping, labyrinthine sieve.
I don't hate it, though. That fact surprised me as much as the phenomenon itself. It is simultaneously oppressive and symbolic of the natural order of things. I don't hate it; I respect it. Humans have created this place; LA is a city of commerce, glamour, beauty and disease. It is the best of us and the worst. And the traffic is like a deep scar...sometimes noble and sometimes hideous.
Traffic, I propose, has made LA a patient city. The denizens of this former wasteland are willing to wait for their dreams to come true. They'll wait for opportunity, fate and yes, traffic. When lines of cars snake out to the horizon on gridlocked highways, I see a patchwork of different ambitions and hopes struggling to survive. They steer this way and that towards all the things they want in life.
Los Angelenos are willing to wait. The traffic may let up any minute...