I admit it, guys. I miss LA. I miss the perennial traffic. I miss the costly rent paid to stay in homes, usually crammed apartments, that were built over half a century ago. I miss the neighbors with whom I would never speak. I miss the self-promoting, mostly-untalented actors, artists and entertainers thirsty for attention. I miss radicalized woke culture, granted its zealots might just be high and overly sensitive. I miss the draughts. I miss the homeless ladies petting their half-dead kittens on greasy stairwells and wreaking of shit. I miss the constant struggle to find parking. I miss the wildfires and the smoke that gives you painful headaches along with a scratchy throat. I miss the ever-present fear that at any moment a disaster could strike and turn the entire population into a cannibalistic mob. Yes, I miss the City of Angels. So sometimes I return for a few days to take pictures of a person like Yeraz Gebeshian. And after, with a tear in my eye, I depart and return to a more sane existence.