Summer has cast it’s leering net over Los Angeles.  It is March and should be spring, but spring always passes us over.  Our coldest winter evening dropped to 50 degrees; hardly coat weather, but I wore my coat anyway because I knew it may be my only chance.  What am I doing here, in the home of eternal summer?  Summer is my enemy, my nemesis, the season that ignites the worst of my RP.  I check the weather forecast with dread; the numbers exhaust and flatten me.  I wish I didn’t have to go outside.