19 8 / 2014
We stepped out of the shadows, our hands in the air, and began yelling, “Press!” and “Journalists!” and “We’re media!” over and over. An officer on top of the vehicle turned his light on us. After a pause, he beckoned us forward. We continued walking, our hands still in the air, still shouting that we were journalists.
With rifles trained on us, we turned right on Highmunt Dr., in the direction of W. Florissant and toward another police vehicle, which had more guns pointed at us. As we made our way forward, I heard a pop and felt a stinging in my lower back. I jumped up instinctively, and realized that the officers behind us, the ones who had asked us to move forward, had shot us with what I believe were rubber bullets. I was hit once and Hermsmeier was hit twice."
19 8 / 2014
DON’T WORRY I’M JUST GETTING UNSOLICITED FEEDBACK ON HOW TO TAKE CRITICISM ON MY WRITING FROM SOMEONE FOR WHOM ENGLISH IS NOT HIS FIRST LANGUAGE AND IT’S ALL HAPPENING VIA GCHAT SO I’M GOOD DON’T WORRY
ETA: YEP HE WANTED TO MAKE SURE THERE WERE ‘NO HARD FEELINGS’ GREAT OK
18 8 / 2014
"Los Angeles is a place where dreams go to die. It’s where dreams go to be born and where dreams go to thrive but, for so many, many more than those that are nurtured, this place is where they grow sick and wither and pass on. There isn’t enough room for everyone’s dream, the city seemingly too crowded for every dream to see sunlight, so some grow but most don’t. And people with those dreams die without being recorded by anyone other than obscure tombstones or in the recollections of family members who will, eventually, also pass with those recollections among their relics."