Occasionally, I am asked to deliver top-secret packages to top-secret locations. No, I am not going to divulge these top secrets to you, lest I get a hira-shuriken lodged in my right temple. I kid you not. Instead, I shall attempt to demonstrate that the Hollywood Hills are located over a portal of pure terror. "But that's where the stars live!" one may very well argue, indignant at my recusancy. "Correct," I would reply, "but so is space, where there are aliens. QED."
On this day in particular, as the clouds kissed the hills in mist, the beams of my headlights groped through the twilight. I swerved wildly to make the turn on my direction sheet and found myself staring down a winding, narrow road. Immediately the lenses of dozens of cameras, both visible and concealed, turned toward my poor, little car, staring at us with cold, unblinking interest. In the half second it took for me to think, there was already a car of net financial worth more than my life honking at me from behind. It then passed me on the single lane and vanished into the mist.
I went on, past the massive bars of gates concealing the way to the residences of the secretive, camera eyes panning after me, computer programs no doubt reading my license plate number and blaring alarms that a Utah native had entered the territory in a car worth less than cashmere toilet paper. Blasphemy. Then, the unthinkable happened. I missed the address.
I crawled down a narrow road with nothing but a short fence between myself and the ravine. The only place to turn around was a single driveway at a blind corner. I checked my mirrors. Safe. I blasted into the driveway. Stopped. Checked both ways. Inched back. Checked both ways again. Pulled out and was on my way again. Phew... Then, as if by black magic, a glittering Lexus materialized behind me, high beams flaring. I pulled into another driveway as it shot past me, fortunately the driveway of the proper lair- er, house. I hastily got out of the car, showed the package to the camera at the gate, so as not to activate the laser turrets, and tossed the package over the gate.
Not wanting to overstay my lack of welcome, I hopped back in my car and pulled out as a scintillating Mercedes whooshed past like a comet, nearly taking out my rear-view mirror. I stopped. Checked both ways. Inched forward. Checked both ways again. Checked both ways another time. Inched forward. Checked both ways once more. Blasted out into the road. A Land Rover waited for me and immediately began to tailgate me to the light. I turned left at the light and broke several laws of physics to get out of there.
I was lucky to survive that night, but should fate ever take you, my reader, into those hills, I recommend doing so only on foot under cover of darkness and ice packs (for the infrared sensors). Otherwise, that trip may be your last.
On this day in particular, as the clouds kissed the hills in mist, the beams of my headlights groped through the twilight. I swerved wildly to make the turn on my direction sheet and found myself staring down a winding, narrow road. Immediately the lenses of dozens of cameras, both visible and concealed, turned toward my poor, little car, staring at us with cold, unblinking interest. In the half second it took for me to think, there was already a car of net financial worth more than my life honking at me from behind. It then passed me on the single lane and vanished into the mist.
I went on, past the massive bars of gates concealing the way to the residences of the secretive, camera eyes panning after me, computer programs no doubt reading my license plate number and blaring alarms that a Utah native had entered the territory in a car worth less than cashmere toilet paper. Blasphemy. Then, the unthinkable happened. I missed the address.
I crawled down a narrow road with nothing but a short fence between myself and the ravine. The only place to turn around was a single driveway at a blind corner. I checked my mirrors. Safe. I blasted into the driveway. Stopped. Checked both ways. Inched back. Checked both ways again. Pulled out and was on my way again. Phew... Then, as if by black magic, a glittering Lexus materialized behind me, high beams flaring. I pulled into another driveway as it shot past me, fortunately the driveway of the proper lair- er, house. I hastily got out of the car, showed the package to the camera at the gate, so as not to activate the laser turrets, and tossed the package over the gate.
Not wanting to overstay my lack of welcome, I hopped back in my car and pulled out as a scintillating Mercedes whooshed past like a comet, nearly taking out my rear-view mirror. I stopped. Checked both ways. Inched forward. Checked both ways again. Checked both ways another time. Inched forward. Checked both ways once more. Blasted out into the road. A Land Rover waited for me and immediately began to tailgate me to the light. I turned left at the light and broke several laws of physics to get out of there.
I was lucky to survive that night, but should fate ever take you, my reader, into those hills, I recommend doing so only on foot under cover of darkness and ice packs (for the infrared sensors). Otherwise, that trip may be your last.
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