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79 Artemis in Echo Park I turn out the driveway, point down the street, bend where the road bends and tip down the hill. This is a trail even under asphalt. Every street downtown cuts through adobe and the concrete wears like the curve of a bowl baking on a patio or the sway of a brick wall drying in the sun. The life before cement is ghosting up through roadways that hooves and water have worn into existence forever. Out to Pasadena, the freeway still behaves like a ravine, snaking through little valleys. The newer roads exist in air, drifting skyward, lifting off the landscape like dreams of the future. We’ve named these roads for where they end— Harbor Freeway, Ventura Freeway, Hollywood Freeway— but now they all end in the sky. ...

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