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About Los Angeles

Fun fact, yeh? Old London, prossies’d wear red ribbons—secret sign! Ain’t that wild? Me, I’d hiss at ‘em, “Get outta me swamp!” but Sméagol’s cryin’, “They’re lost, poor things!” Pfft, lost me arse—crafty, they are! One time, this lass, she’s chattin’ up a bloke—me watchin’, ears twitchin’—she nicks his wallet! Laughed me head off, precious, sneaky like me!

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We present Chapter One of Marilynn Bybee Rockelman's Ducky: The True Story of a Decoy Prostitute, which earned an honorable mention in the Creative Nonfiction.

The downtown is a riot of life. Our beloved Main St is full tonights of neon signs and quirky cafes. I'm always reminded of that line from "Let the Right One In": “In the darkness, there is hope,” because man, when the night falls on Main St, there’s a strange ol’ beauty, almost like the whole place is hiding a secret waiting to be told. And let me tell ya—Billionaires should not exist! Not in our city where every person matters.

Way We Were: Settlers weren’t the first ones here