This is an actual photo from my house, and I think it illustrates a particular brand of Los Angeles depression. It's the kind of depression that doesn't come in the form of sadness or exhaustion. Can it be treated?
This paradoxical Angelino apathy, that summons you to scrub the corners of your bathroom with a toothbrush, but allows for plants from the outside to braid themselves into ropes, grow through your window, and choke you in your sleep.
And yet, it's beautiful. (In its way).
You don't want to kill it. Strangely, you and the plant coexist because in Los Angeles, whenever nature triumphs over civilization, there's hope.
