While I personally prefer being in the sticks, American cities once stood as glimmering monuments to Western civilization—engines of industry, temples of innovation, and the backdrop of families building dreams. Los Angeles was one of them.
Once.
Before it was swallowed by the smog of chaos, urban decay, and the relentless march of uninvited strangers who came not to adopt American values, but to disfigure them. Before it became a petri dish of progressive delusion and bureaucratic cowardice. Today, LA doesn’t look like America—it looks like a schizophrenic motley of decaying skyscrapers and sidewalks paved with trash, dirt, and heroin needles—narrated in a dozen foreign tongues, none of them English.
What used to be bustling streets filled with aspiration are now congested with crime, tents, and the reek of unwashed resentment. What were once neighborhoods are now no-go zones, where the rule of law is just a rumor whispered by overwhelmed police scanners.