LA is hot when I arrive. I ride from the airport in the back seat of the cab, window down, hot wind, traffic noise. The walls hold the view prisoner. Palm trees peeking over at the chaos. It's an hour to get to the hotel and when I melt into the room I stand under the shower motionless for an age. I haven't slept in almost two days. I have to make it to the Fox lot, I have to meet the Exec Vice President, I have to be on, man, on. I'm dizzy. I pour oceans of water into my sandy mouth and it evaporates as it hits my tongue. Everything I brought is black. So I wear black. I leave the AC on. I put on my black sunglasses and I step back out into the world and I hail another cab and I head to Century City. Is that far? I don't know. The Russian guy just drives he doesn't say much. I make him stop at the Walgreens so I can buy more water. I blink and it's gone. We drive, we drive, we drive, we land and we drive up to the security gate. The lot is an entire suburb. I show my I.D. and in I go. I have meetings in Hollywood. I practice talking as I leave the cab and stroll through the grounds toward Building 76 but the words come out in new and bizarre orders. I flew over for this and now I can't stand, can't speak, can't function. I have meetings in Hollywood. I have meetings in Hollywood. I'm so tired.