Drive by the Vista on a crisp California winter night: a pink "V" with a circle around it flashes on off on off. A phallic neon pole lights a path into the "V." How did I never notice the absurd lewdness of the marquee? Underneath, a man in a gray snow cap hugs a small twiggy girl with glasses.
"They're in love."
"No they're not. It's his hat."
Perhaps there is truth to this. It is hard not to want to jump out of your car and hug a man in a gray snow cap.
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