Fireblood by Ben Nosrati

As I drive through the garbage-paved road within the comfortable luxury of a Nissan Altima, I slowly learn the ins and outs, feel the city's heartbeat-rhythm that propels businessmen to work and students to class. On my left appears the broken desiccated walls of the LA River, flowing with the city's unsecessary disposals.

Yet, even here, I hear the thumping ingrained in my blood by generations of Angelinos.
This atrium of Angelinos, past and present, surrounds me.

The atrium I call my home expands and contracts, pumping the Californian life-blood through my veins. So much pain, poverty, desolation, sewage, garbage, yet this is my home and with so much love, sunshine, family, friends and community I am privileged to call it my own.

Los Angeles runs the fire through my veins as my blood runs through the city.