LA is a mirage, flying and floating over the desert. A beautifully painted set with beautiful faces that don’t exist. Tall, slender, plastic palms rise out of the hot, bright sand, casting dark, rich shadows with its swollen coconuts. In the branches and under the bark you will find spiders, long legged, creeping, crawling and leaching the milk from its nuts. Covered in cream, without a dream, yet hungry for milk, no name, they don’t exist, another pretty face, not meant to be seen, woven in a web of deceit. An occasional camel slowly passes, lunging and lurching forward, sinking in the sand but inching closer to its goal, passionate in its pursuit to reach an oasis, to quench its extreme thirst for success. Weathered an worn from the hot sun and the brutal reality it breaks, sinking in defeat, buried up to the neck in the sand it disappears, smoothed over, perfectly preserving the mirage for visitors yet to come.