My hair was wet and I was wearing an oversized orange t-shirt that belonged to a former boyfriend and not the one who was on his way to my apartment to break my heart.
I knew the words before he said them, and while I still fell through the rabbit hole in that moment, some part of me always knew that we would never move to the west coast together, never make a life together. Or maybe that’s just how hindsight feels, like you always sort of knew.
I kept the plane ticket that I had already bought. In the airport, I met up with my new roommate, a sorority sister who I barely knew. We stumbled around the city for three days looking for an apartment in a car without power steering, the most we could afford. We giggled and fretted and tried to hide our immediate distaste for the place we had declared would change our lives.
Before this trip, neither of us had ever been to Los Angeles.
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