Unapologetically Artistic

those eyes right about now, especially as the biting late night wind
brushed passed his face and made his nose feel as if it were turning
blue. As he tried to figure out the confusing lines on the map the
nice airport woman had handed him with a plastered-on smile, he
again wondered just how his mother could have convinced him to
come. There was nothing on the itinerary that had sounded very
appealing to him: a tour of Hollywood, a tour of a few museums, a
suite in a room of the famous Hotel Figueroa. Nothing, Thomas
thought, that could possibly beat the appeal of his warm bed, his
mother’s famous hot chocolate, and one of his worn copies of
Harry Potter, pages thin from the constant running of his loving
fingers over them.
Thomas thought of all this as he finally let his frustration with
the confusing lines on the map get the better of him and held out
his hand to hail a cab. It was so strange how there seemed to be
endless options for transportation here. In his small town of
Bridgeport in Connecticut, you either owned a car or you loved
your legs. Thomas didn’t own a car or love his legs, allowing the
countless number of taxis, Ubers, and metro trains in Los Angeles
to make that city seem more appealing.
As the taxi headed to his hotel, Thomas couldn’t help staring
at the overwhelming variety of shops they passed and the
multitude of fluorescent lights that sped past him. The beauty of
the colors was only intensified when small little raindrops began
appearing on his window, making the light patterns cascade in
rainbows all over his face and shirt.
By the time he finally reached his hotel, extreme drowsiness
had washed over his body, making his surroundings almost
unperceivable to him. Even so, as he walked through the hotel, he
couldn’t help noticing the extreme grandeur and gaudy features it
exuded. He felt so plain walking by the beautiful women in
sparkly gowns and tall men in expensive-looking suits. These
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