The laundromat was in a strip mall, next door to the liquor store and a Thai restaraunt that didn't seem to have much of a clientele. Two blocks away was a used car dealership that had a number of somewhat decrepit cars from the 50's, dust-covered and forlorn. A coin-op car wash was across the street, and the freeway was audible in the distance, an ever-present sound in LA.

The middle of the day is not the high traffic time for business traveller to be out on the street, let alone at the laundromat. Two round Mexican women were waiting for their clothes to finish, watching a Spanish Soap Opera. What was it about Spanish themed soap operas that were so instantly identifiable as being in Spanish, he wondered to himself, sorting out his clothes. His eyes, like those of the two round women, were drawn to the flickering screen. Even without hearing the words, you could instantly place the over-dramatic poses, the pouty lipped females, the arrogant older grey haired men, and the ever present indoor gardens. One nice part of the Spanish channel, he mused, looking at the pouty woman on the screen showing quite a good amount of cleavage, was just that, they didn't hesitate to be more alluring. He idly wondered how much of the viewing market was actually male, getting a fix of soft-porn.

Putting his clothes in, and shoving the quarter feeder into the the front panel with a resounding clank, the washers started up, and he sat up on on of them, pulling out a hamburger and fries, and started to eat. His good clothes now spinning around in the water, he was wearing ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Probably best that way, he thought, spilling some ketchup on his pants, wiping it up with his finger and licking it off.

Just the day before, he was at the grand opening of the movie theatre he was working at, slacks and a tie, talking to a few of the famous actors and actresses that had been invited to the opening night. Part of the magic and glitz of Hollywood, it had entranced him, to what extent he really wouldn't know for a few years to come. Today, eating a cold cheeseburger, sitting on a somewhat noisy washing machine in a laundromat, watching a Spanish soap opera, he had time to reflect on it. Every once in a while, the two women would look over at him with some veiled looks, the kind that accused him of being some gringo out to steal their underwear.

He liked the contrast of the two days. The Hollywood glitter and television cameras, the attractive people putting on a show for both themselves and whatever audience was available, compared with the simple midday chore of doing laundry with round Spanish speaking women. The previous day had captured him, for he had never been a part of the Hollywood scene, only having read about it in magazines, or seen glimpses of it on TV. To be a part of it, talking to famous actors, being a part of that whole world, and flushing his little hometown out of the picture was in itself, one of those things you read about, let alone do. Yet there he was, talking to the actress from Pyscho, a woman part of modern movie history, and yet such a nice, realistic and friendly woman. He smiled at the recollection of the other group of fleeting celebrities, the Simi Valley Beauty queens, pretty by southern California standards, let alone by Hollywood standards. One young girl, her skin a perfect tan porcelain was friendly when cornered and alone, yet when someone of importance was near, was changed, her movie smile turned on, the local company forgotten. How warm and happy she had been to talk to him, feeling him out for importance for her to either keep as an aquaintance, mentally locked up in her a-list, and how quickly she had changed on finding out he wasn't a new studio exec she hadn't met before, and how he saw her eyes go blank and her mind went elsewhere she he mentioned he didn't even live in town.

Part of the other side of LA, he knew was that chameleon ability, the ability to change oneself on demand, to be whatever that audience was looking for. People called it dishonesty, or a false reality, but it really wasn't. Being an actor required that changeability, that so-called two faced-ness. Since so many people here, and in the surrounding Hollywood area were trying to get into the movies, it was as common as air. He thought about that a little more, waiting for Miss Simi Valley to return her attention back to him rather than the Sony Studio exec two groups of people away, and looked around the room to observe what others were doing.

He wondered, since he really didn't have the instant-on ability of the wannabes, if the reason a few of the celebrities in attendence that night had talked to him for what he considered far longer than they would have. He had watched as Sinbad the comedian had worked parts of the crowd outside the VIP area and how his demeanor had been quite different when he was conversing with him for what was probably 10 minutes. Asking him detailed questions of what he was doing, and even wanting to see how the software he had installed worked had been different than what he was expecting. The woman from Pyscho was not young anymore, she was over 60, but still acted as if she was 40, and they had walked up the escalator together, talking about her role in that movie, and how she enjoyed being out of the spotlight now. She shook his hand outside of the screen where they were playing a remastered version of her movie, and the smile she gave was knowing, that she was walking into a place where she would have to play her part, fit into her role.

Some of the actors, he saw, were surrounded a bit more carefully with various handlers, people whose sole job it was to insulate them from the celebrity hounds and fawning fans. A few of them were quickly ushered from the red carpet area to the screens without being allowed the inter-mingling with the VIP crowd. He wondered what any of them that he talked to thought about him, for he wasn't fawning or complimentary on their past work, only polite and converstional about current topics, mostly topics of the evening. After the various movies had started, he'd talked to the movie chain executive about what had happened that night, and was surpised at the praise he received from the exec about not being the typical fawning fan. Some of the other installers in his company had been star-struck at events like this, he found out, asking for autographs, forgetting that they were there as an insider, not some fan let in by accident.

The washer clicked off, and he slid off the top of it, having sat up there during the spin cycle to keep it from hammering away at the wall while it spun out of balance. The soap opera was still on, and he was brought back to the current day. He put his clothes into the little wheel-about basket and rolled them over the bank of dryers. Finding one well away from the ones the two women were using, lest he further agitate them by threatening their underwear, he loaded the dryer up, and thought about the contrast between the previous night, and where he was right then.

People moved to Los Angeles for so many reasons. The sun, the weather, the California experience, but mainly they moved there for the allure of Hollywood. The chance to be famous, to be a star. You could see it in their eyes, when they talked about the acting classes they went to, the people they knew, or even the people they just saw at a party. They moved here for the proximity of the whole movie industry. They lived in Santa Monica, or in Mid-Wilshire, trying to get close to the industry. Yet Burbank was really was where the movies were made. All the studios were there, the office buildings were filled with offices of ad execs and industry players. Yet it was unassuming, non-pretentious. If you had a Burbank address, well, that was just because you couldn't afford to live either on the beach or over by West Hollywood.

He liked that though, having spent the night as a part of what most people really moved to LA for, and then, the next day, simply going to a local hamburger shop, and eating his lunch while doing clothes at the laundromat. It was dead time before going to work that night at another theatre, down in Universal City, where all the tourists went, and the patrons of celebrity owned restaraunts talked about how cool it would be if so and so were actually at their restaraunt that night. He knew he'd see within 24 hours, and have been a part of, the three distinct lives that you lived when in LA. The insider of the industry, the person allowed behind the VIP red velvet ropes, talking to celebrities. The tourist going to the movie-based theme park attractions, or walking by Manns Chinese Theatre, part of the hundreds of camera wielding, guidebook driven people. And simply living a normal life, eating lunch, going to the grocery store, washing the car, commuting, and reading a book at the quiet edge of a business park.

They all had their specific allure. When you were a part of the insider crowd, you felt as if you had really made it. This was what LA was about. The glitz, the pretentiousness, the showmanship, and the feeling of being part of something famous. Yet, because you really weren't the star attraction, he could see how quickly that would cease to be enough, how it would turn into a depressing part of your life. Always there, yet never quite having 'made it.'

The tourists didn't feel that way, he knew, for they weren't there long enough to have the wash of that glitz wear off. Hollywood and the movie industry was just so big, and the anticipation of having a vacation there, in the midst of all those stars would be simply too overwhelming, and they'd leave town still in awe. You also went someplace on vacation with a different mindset, rather than when on business. For business, you had to commute in traffic, get up early, wear a tie, and integrate yourself quickly into the local area, knowing the streets and the jargon. People on vacation probably didn't go the local electronic supply shop and buy 500$ worth of network cabling either, he laughed to himself.

Yet when you lived there, it became just like any other place, albiet with weather that stayed essentially the same year round. You still had your dreams, your aspirations that changed over time, the places you wanted to travel to, and the things you planned to do with you life, those things happened regardless of where you lived. You had so much so close to you, and even though it may be a part of your daily life, and something you'd dreamed of in your pre-adult life, you simply started your overall happiness level higher. You didn't have to escape the confines of a small town, or escape someplace that didn't hold any of your dreams. You could live your dreams, and continue to grow more dreams.

Knowing that, that even if he did live here, in this city of stardom, palm trees, and the overall stamp of, well, how else could he describe it, that stamp of being in LA, he knew he'd be happy here. He folded up his clothes, waved to the two women who were still there, and got back in his car to head off to the studios, wondering if he should pick up a copy of Variety, and look for casting calls. With that thought planted in his mind, he pulled out into the ever present traffic,and knew where his place in this town was.