The Endless City
Javier had spent all fifteen years of his life under the vast, quiet skies of New Mexico, where the horizon felt like a familiar friend and the sun painted the mountains red every evening. When his parents announced a summer trip to Los Angeles to visit his older cousins, Marco and Mateo, Javier’s imagination ran wild.
Stepping out of the air-conditioned car into the concrete warmth of L.A. was overwhelming. Highways looped around each other like giant gray ribbons, neon signs buzzed at every corner, and the sheer volume of people made Javier’s head spin.
"Crazy, right?" his fifteen-year-old cousin, Marco, laughed, slapping Javier on the shoulder. "Welcome to the real city, Javi."
For the first few days, L.A. felt like a dream. Mateo, who was seventeen and had a newly acquired, battered sedan, drove them to Santa Monica Beach. Javier tried churros from beach carts, felt the ocean spray on his face for the first time, and marveled at how a place could feel so alive and endlessly big.
