Hollywood

I have the car at the airport in half an hour. Dropping it off runs smoothly. When they open the petrol cap, sand will fall out. It takes 1.5 hours to get back by bus and metro. The stations are all empty, the metro is echoing. I walk along Sunset Boulevard. No, this is definitely not the famous stretch. But I want to enjoy myself.

There’s a sign in front of a huge complex: Free Stress Test. Interesting. My first contact with Scientology. After half an hour I am enlightened: all our misdeeds are the result of unresolved past issues. Aha. And the Oscar goes to the black man with the funny glasses there.
Yes, and how stressed am I now, I want to know. The man tells me that you can’t measure that in absolute terms. I’m very disappointed. I would have expected more from Scientology.

Afterwards I go to an old gypsy woman on Hollywood Boulevard. Even a deaf person could have told from my accent that I would be travelling a lot. The rest, which she reads from my hand, is much more impressive. As I don’t have any rubber nipples and don’t work in the porn industry, I’ll save the content here.

Hollywood Boulevard is dull. Stars all over the tarmac. Only Arnie’s is flashing, but everyone’s still banging on it. Everyone stands around stupidly in front of the big theatres. Big double-deckers take peeping Toms up to Beverly Hills. A good day for work. I don’t notice Tom’s camera battery before I wash it. Not afterwards either. But after drying. It’s dry now, sorry Tom :-)