[Nikolaj]

^
There was a racial tension in LA in the early 90s that contributed to my leaving, along with the fact that the love of my life refused to see me, and would hang up on me every time I tried to call. I used to like to spend time on the rooftop of my building, and I witnessed a homeless (black) person trying to rob a young guy who was driving a very cool Jeep- Jeep's were popular in LA in the 90s. From my rooftop, I saw the young guy punch out the homeless man, and instantly, cars stopped, with outraged people of various races chastising the guy horribly for hitting the man, til the kid in the Jeep ran back into it and sped off, amidst jeers and cruelty. He had only been defending himself- had I the time and the guts to leave from the roof to go to the elevators and down to the street to defend the kid, I would have appeared racist, which was what passers-by were screaming at him about-that he decked the guy because of his race, and it wasn't the case at all. It was right around the time of the infamous Rodney King Police Beating, a horrible thing, and there were riots in relatively good (not great) sections of Hollywood I worked in.
Also, people were dying left and right of AIDS- LA became creepy to me. So, I left. I miss it at times, but it was a perfect place to be young in the 80s and into the 90s. I doubt I'll ever return.
That 'love of my life' died less than a year after I left, and maybe he knew he was dying, and that's why he wouldn't even speak to me. Or, maybe he just hated me by then. I didn't find out until 3 years after his death that he'd died. I still don't know most of the details- it remains a haunting thing, but death is death, there is nothing to change that.
I was ready to leave. I loved pretending to be a 'native' of Southern California, and after a few years I seemed and felt like one. But, it was just a haven of that time, not meant to last, in my life.