Gary left Hollywood and drove up Laurel Canyon, like he’d done a hundred times before in another life.
It was a good life, one that he missed. A life filled with glorious uncertainty, excitement, and hope. A life he’d traded away . . . for what? He couldn’t remember.

It had been a good night. A night with people he missed, people who were once kindred spirits. Standing with them on Fairfax, he’d felt truly happy . . . and realized how profoundly unhappy he really was.

Gary envied them, and he hated himself for it. They were following the dream he’d given up.

He pulled his car up the hill, through the turns, past the houses he thought he’d be living in now. He crested Mulholland and began the long descent back home.