California was fantastic in a way, especially for wee Scots boy with blue skin and a nasty way with words, but it was also boring as hell and you were kind of stuck there, even then. Los Angeles was literally in a desert with a vast and empty ocean on one side and 1000 miles of sand and maniacs on the other. Los Angeles was its own fast-fading utopia where everybody had agreed to not have a sense of humor and also to collectively ignore the fact that the place was literally on fire half the time. They were good at being blind. They could ignore the poor, mad bastards sleeping in tents, and ignore the vast plumes of smoke that obscured the sun, and ignore the dead marine life that washed up as the ocean got too hot, and ignore the blood and dead bodies when somebody flipped out and killed a bunch of people. When I looked at me, when I was from Mars with my fits and my accent and my bad jokes about global warming and my rage, hardly anyone drank, but there were still a few dive bars open, mostly for failing actors and expats from the UK.
His son. He was an odd fish. JTS. Weird dude called himself JTS and we nicknamed him ASP Angry Scottish Pervert. I mean, I don't even know if he was a pervert, but damn man, he looked like one. He really did. And he was definitely creepy, always changing his look. Like literally a nerd one day, nail polish the next, then a leather kilt, then skatewear. I mean, the guy was lost, lost and angry and obsessed by his father and his half-sister.
