LACMA's got a figure drawing workshop this afternoon and I've been up since before the sun because apparently excitement doesn't believe in sleeping in. Sketchbook's already open, pencil's warm, and I haven't even left my apartment yet. You want to come sit next to me and tell me I'm drawing the hands wrong?
Karol G at SoFi and the bass is already rattling my ribs from the parking lot — wore something I'll either regret or brag about by the third song. You'd lose me in that crowd, wouldn't you?
Late-night diner, cold coffee, and a script I keep rewriting in my head. The waitress stopped checking on me two refills ago and honestly that's the kindest thing anyone's done for me all week. What are you doing up?
Perseids peak tonight and I'm not missing them for anything. Drove up to a turnout above the city where the only light is whatever I brought with me. Tell me you'd lie on the hood with me and count them.
Ani DiFranco's voice bouncing off the hills at the Ford and I forgot how small this place feels — like she's singing to twenty people instead of twelve hundred. I wore something low-cut because the night air had ideas and I let them win. Tell me you'd find me in the dark up here.
Mozart Under the Stars at the Bowl and I actually put on a dress for once. The violins haven't even started and I already feel like I'm in someone else's period drama. Tell me you'd share the wine.
Some movies only make sense under the stars, so I'm packing a blanket and enough snacks to survive a curse for Griffith Park tonight. Tell me you'd share the blanket when the fog rolls in.
Got lost painting and somewhere between the third color and the second glass of wine my shirt stopped being a priority. Tell me you'd knock first.
Sketching dragons at a café because tonight the Hollywood Bowl is screening How to Train Your Dragon with a full live orchestra and I physically cannot be chill about it. My pencil keeps slipping because I keep imagining what the brass section is going to sound like bouncing off those hills. Tell me you'd save me a seat on the bench.
Saxophone echoing through the trees at seven in the morning and I'm the only one sitting close enough to feel every note in my chest. First-ever LA Jazz Festival just kicked off and I dragged myself out here before the city even woke up — Diet Coke in hand because coffee is for people who didn't stay up reading scripts till three. Tell me you'd sit on this grass with me.