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It’s 8 pm, I’ve just met my tour group in the lobby of the hostel, they seem great, we go round in a circle, say our names and why we’re here, they’re about to go to dinner, chat over drinks and head to bed, we have an early start tomorrow, but this was my last night in LA and I had already made a secret date with the night, heading up to my room, I pulled out a sweater and ordered an Uber. The Griffith Observatory, some utopian view I’d had in my mind since seeing the larger than life view in a photo. I stepped outside into the Californian night air, a young boy leaning against the hostel wall smoking a cigarette turned and asked me where I was heading. I told him about my mission, ‘is it crazy to go out at this time?’, ‘No, it’s not crazy, but do you know what else is beautiful...’ my Uber arrived, screeching to a stop. ‘RO-CHELLE’ a deep voice called out. Skipping one beat, I jumped into the back, guided by my ideas of some night sky, the radio was loud, playing SZA and 21 Savage. My driver was making a living, thinking about a tourist paying $60 to Uber up a hill in the middle of the night. Total silence for most of the journey, a mood filled up the front seat, ‘heart so cold got a padlock’ lyrics rung out from the radio, like some silent communication, as we weaved up the hill through traffic, ‘you’ll lose reception up here, so walk down a while before you order your Uber home’. ‘Thanks, that’s good to know’. I walked out profusely thanking him as he U-turned back down the hill, and there it was this Scientology like beacon of a dome in the night. I walk right through in awe of it all, coming out through an arched balcony of dreams there it is, this blanket of lights under the dark sky and one single moon. L.A. by night didn’t disappoint, everything I’d imagined and more, suddenly I felt like I was in a movie, I’d seen it but it didn’t have a name. Soaking it up, I rolled down the hill, now it was near midnight, the reality of heading home sunk in, couples held hands as they walked to their cars, some kind of small coyote crossed my path, I whip out my phone, snapped and keep walking, every Uber I order cancels itself, 20 minutes of walking and still no sign of reception. I reach a bus stop and a couple tell me the bus won’t be long, the driver tells me it’ll be 2 stops before I’ll get some reception. When I depart it’s me and a crossroads and the night, this time an Uber is on its way, I look up at the sky, and I still think it was worth it. The driver arrives. ‘Hello’. I get in the back, it’s easier to roll out the door that way. We talk about the night, the view, Venice beach, Jim Morrisson and before I know it, I know that he’d lived in Venice beach and why it was called Venice, Abbot Kinney had tried to recreate Venice Italy with a maze of hidden canal ducts. He reminisced about the charms of the canal, and that it was his favourite place to think. I was his last passenger and he could take me there on the way back to the hostel. This is that typical story before something awful happens. Except it didn’t, the wildest and mutually dumbest part of me said ‘yeah’. We walked to the canal, in the dark, lit only by moonlight and a few street lamps, the moon shone over the canals and we peered into a row of glass houses, in L.A. fashion each one completely unique, tall and short, wide and narrow, the outline of swan boats under the bridge, this was the unexpected beauty of the night, we walked back to the car and headed back to the hostel. ‘Thanks for trusting a stranger in the night’, ‘I know, I’m crazy but it was beautiful thank you.’