The City of Angels has wings. It’s bright and clear rays create new marks on my skin; my face scratched by the salt of the sea. As the sun wakes the earth and unveils cliffs and valleys naturally spotted with magenta, lime, and lemon, a new world is revealed. Yes, changes by man are inconspicuous, and neighborhoods exhibit the expected heeled, bleached, glamorous reality of television. But those who inhabit it show a way of life unbeknown to the deciduous breed that I’ve only known. Striving artists of multiple types show rigor and passion for their craft in bountiful numbers, only to hopefully become the cream. Tension is slowly erased from my mind and instead is filled with sunlight. Strides turn to strolls and stress to smiles.  The Hills rise up and up and above your head and are polka dotted with residents burrowed in between them.  The lights at night shine like stars in a clear sky, creating constellations new even to the Greeks.
The City of Angels has wings, yes, but New Amsterdam breeds an unmatched animal. Its hills are paved with concrete and glass, its parks artificial, and its people never stationary. The once pure waves that still exist in The City of Angels are littered here with bottles, over population, and sweat. Buildings block sunlight and fill the air with intensity. With few areas of solace and escape, intensity reigns this world. It will thicken your skin, and make you feel overwhelmed and alone all at the same time. But it’s the destruction that makes you stronger.  Passion is in never lacking in a place that has transformed from The Gangs to The City.   Constantly pushed out of comfort and into the wild, you know it’s for the better.  Strife and stride keep you going, donned in black and ready for anything.
It’s Angels versus Amsterdam, the eternal battle.  There are no winners, just wanderers and explorers, trying to find their way home.  To which do you belong?
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