After reading this post, I felt the need to write a similar letter, considering I've been running into such interesting characters recently. Maybe it's because I've been hanging out with a friend of mine from Chicago and through her curious and open eyes, it's easier to remember the things that I absolutely love about living here. 

Dear Mr. Homeless Person Talking to a Lamp Post on Cahuenga on my way to Cinespace: I've seen other people talk to inanimate objects before, but it always seemed like they'd reached a breaking point with their psychoses before an argument began. You, however, seemed to be having  a very peaceful conversation with your lamp post, like you had accepted the weirdness of your brain and made peace with it. Who am I to say that the lamp post wasn't responding just because I can't understand the language that you're both speaking?

Dear Teenage Spoken Word Poet at the Greenway Court Theatre: I love how much you love yourself. You rock a pair of plastic yellow Ray Bans like no one has ever rocked a pair of yellow Ray Bans before. The amount of swagger you've got tells me that you can't be older than 18. As the years go by, that self-assuredness slips away from most folks, but hopefully it won't slip away from you. You go ahead with your bad self, girl. You speak your poetry like it's the dopest thing ever to have been bestowed unto mankind. 

Dear  Mr. Peacoat at the Cha Cha Lounge. For a straight man, you had the most delicious style. You awkwardly asked me for my number, but never called. It was probably because we met each other 10 minutes before the bar closed and that's always an awkward moment to meet anyone. I didn't get to ask you what you did for a living, but I'll go on imagining that you're writing a novel somewhere with influences rooted in Jungian philosophy and/or Nitzche.

Dear Actor guy from the Milk Commercials. You're in a band aren't you? Yeah, I think you're in one of the bands that plays at Spaceland with a friend of mine. I see you all the time walking down the street in Los Feliz, but I never have the guts to say hi. I also think we went to college together, but now that you're in those Milk Commercials, that's all I can see. It's really your mustache that does it. You're like Tom Selleck meets Frank Zappa only blonde.

 Dear Asian Man with the PitBull on 5th and Main. You don't look so tough, I'm not gonna lie. If you didn't have your dog with you, I'd probably want to mug you because you had a pretty expensive looking jacket on. But your beautiful pitbull puppy reminded me not to fuck with you. Not that the pitbull was so scary looking or anything, it's just that beneath those doe-eyes I know that it's still a pitbull. Maybe that's indicative of who you are. Maybe you look one way on the outside, but you could really tear a bitch apart. 

Dear Couple Making Out at the Downtown Art Walk: Half of me is saying, "Seriously?" The other half of me is saying, "I guess all you really need is Love." I mean, messy PDAs aren't so fun to watch, but they sure are fun to be a part of, am I right?

 Dear Lesbian Woman Who Drew A Moustache Onto Your Upper Lip: "AWESOME!"