In the early morning, the thick fog obscured their ascent.
In the rearview mirror, one could barely see the gigantic white letters sitting on the hills.
At the top, they parked their red coupe and walked towards the observatory, cautiously scoping the scene.
Looking over the cliffs, the city down below was starting to wake up.
He pulled out his phone, thrusting it towards a stranger.
“Can you take our picture?”
After they looked over the cliffs, they walked over to the obelisk, a tall familiar face waiting. There stood Zak, a friend from their younger days who’d moved out West in search of fame and fortune in the Pictures.
The old friends caught up and headed down the hills.
At the brunch spot, they waited for their contact to meet up. She would be arriving soon. Time passed, and they wondered if she would show. Was she held up? Had she been made? Did she have to quickly flee? She was too cunning to be caught. They waited, scoping the room to make sure they weren’t being watched. The hipster vegan barista behind the counter was preoccupied by doing his job seemingly as slowly as he possibly could. The tattooed servers unenthusiastically handed off sandwiches and eggs to patrons.
Then she entered the restaurant. She made us right away and flashed an excited smile. Jess, our friend from college and Anna’s old roommate. We hadn’t seen her since the wedding two years before. She sat down and we made up for lost time.
Once we finished our eggs, we trekked over to the Santa Monica Pier across town. Well maybe it wasn’t across town, but it took almost an hour in LA traffic, so it at least felt like an hour.
On the pier we saw the sign “End of Route 66”.
With our friends by our side, we had come to the end of our journey.