Frantic, hungry, rancid with fresh poison for you who love to travel, I’m sitting in my pajamas, tennis shoes — mask on — in a pizza joint where cashier won’t run my debit card. “Cash only,” she says. Sounds like “Smash lonely.” But that’s me, isn’t it? Smash Lonely. This is my first day ever in LA, and it’s only 2 a.m. on a Saturday, the first weekend in April.
