“Told myself that you were right for me
But felt so lonely in your company”
Two dancers make and break connections at found locations in downtown Los Angeles. A city big enough to form your shape in, big enough to be forever lost in. A city of shadows off the freeways, of opportunities and connections missed and made over interchanges, under flyovers and hurtling through late-night intersections; the divisions between city and city visible only to children of the sprawl.
“La vida es un sueño,” wrote Ry Cooder when he told Los Angeles Stories from the 1940s and 50s, a time L.A. still inhabits, its noir giving up only enough to turn tech-noir, the smog of the world’s earliest traffic jams still imprinted on the clear night sky. Boy with long hair reaches for a girl. Girl dances away. The city lights pierce the dry air like landed stars.