Although California was already considered a fairly densely populated state, it still had the uniquely American trait of vast land and sparse population. High-rises were basically found only in the more prosperous areas, while the outskirts were full of short little houses, so it was common to see palm trees taller than the buildings.
The character of these West Coast cities was completely different from the East Coast. The traffic jams were equally terrible, but the sunshine was abundant, the breeze mild, and the sky so blue it looked filtered. All kinds of strange plants from temperate to tropical climates lined the roadsides, green as if they were made of plastic.
Schiller and Tim drove around Los Angeles. Even at the relatively quiet hour of noon, there were still plenty of cars on the road. They drifted along for over an hour before finding a restaurant that looked Mexican from the outside and going in.
Then they discovered that the café in the small town might not have been some trendy internet-famous spot after all, because this restaurant in the city was just as expensive and not particularly tasty either.
That afternoon, they drove to the seaside, though they did not go down to the beach. They simply took a lap along the coastal highway before heading to the airport ahead of the evening rush hour.
The weather was even better than yesterday. When Pamela arrived, she caught California's purple evening glow. The whole city was awash in reddish violet, and even the light cast across the white walls became a dreamlike layering of pink, purple, and orange.
Since it was still early, Pamela suggested taking a walk by the sea, so Schiller drove toward the coast.
The closer they got to the ocean, the shorter the buildings became. Eventually,