Friday Beaches

I was under the impression that Los Angeles was the epitome of the conventional SoCal lifestyle. Hippy blends and matcha tea lattes. Yep. 

But that ownership was stripped away from L.A. as soon as we entered San Diego. 


It was probably a rash decision to drive into The Gaslamp Quarter on St. Patrick’s Day. The traffic was remarkably tiresome, and I was left restless. La Jolla, however, was another little story. The town’s an assortment of dainty quirks and dainty people, and quite possibly has some of the most handsome houses by the beach. 

While the coast has never explicitly fascinated or moved me in some profound way, I certainly wouldn’t have minded growing up in a place like La Jolla. Seeing high school kids flocking around a fire pit by the shore induced a sense of FOMO. It was a scene straight out of a comic pre-teen movie. I'm somewhat gutted I didn’t have the glorified American school experience. A Friday night beach party? Sounds about right.