"I made the trek out to Stevenson Ranch to meet up with the Davidians one rather hot Sunday afternoon, far beyond any sense of urban infill, out deep into the belly of sprawling fast food chains and KB tract developments -- although it actually isn't that long time-wise from LA proper, it certainly feels like it's in the middle of nowhere (unless you're the type that considers Six Flags "somewhere"). It was the kind of dry inland heat that's best served in well insulated, air conditioned boxes. I made my way through a series of cutely Spanish-named streets, lined with identical pseudo-Mediterranean homes, until I eventually reached Bryan's house at the end of a well-manicured cul-de-sac (now, I live in a tiny run-down apartment that was probably built in the late sixties on the cheap, and that was also probably the last time anyone gave any thought to its general upkeep -- that being said, I can't really condemn the obvious merits of suburban living)."
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