The First Impression of Los Angeles

Old Tom, who nearly took a Kryptonian's punch, wasn't wrong about one thing.

The ferry from Alaska—once it docked at Los Angeles Harbor, the people getting off basically faced no inspection. Drive your car off, and you were gone. Boarding only required a ticket; nobody cared if your luggage or trunk held anything dangerous.

Before 9/11 hit the twenty-first century, America had this blind confidence in its homeland security. They were always the ones stirring trouble on foreign soil—who'd dare bring it to them?

Anyway, driving through the streets of Los Angeles, Henry couldn't shake that surreal feeling. Passing by the beach, what he saw wasn't the sun, sand, and bikinis he'd imagined.

The bleak coastline, with the howling wind rushing into the car, felt grim. Even with a Kryptonian constitution that shrugged off heat and cold, he still thought it was stupid to roll down the window in winter.

Like those idiots driving a convertible in the rain, stuck wearing a raincoat or holding an umbrella inside because they couldn't figure out how to put the top up.

Occasionally, he spotted some surfing fanatics, clad in full wetsuits, taking on the winter waves.

To be fair, their surfing skills were impressive. Maybe anyone who wasn't good enough wouldn't bother torturing themselves in winter.

By chance, he saw a film crew shooting on the beach.

Surrounded by cameras were handsome men and beautiful women, wearing swim trunks and bikinis meant for summer, pretending to bask in the sun and sand.

Compared to them, the crew members were bundled up like overstuffed sausages. The actors were probably cursing under their breath.

Seeing that, Henry finally started to feel the reality of being in Los Angeles sink in.

So, what now?

He'd thought a lot on the ferry, but it was all big-picture stuff.

Now he had to ask himself: what exactly should he do?

Passing a newsstand, Henry pulled over, got out, and walked up to it. Fumbling in his pocket, he fished out a five-dollar bill and laid it on the counter, grabbing a copy of the Los Angeles Times. "And a map," he said to the owner.

"Sightseeing map, or..." the middle-aged man behind the counter asked.

"A detailed one. I'll be living in LA for a while."

The man pulled out a folded single-sheet map and slid it to Henry, along with some change. "Where you from?" he asked casually.

"Alaska," Henry said bluntly.

"Oh, figured. With that getup, I was starting to wonder if LA was about to get snow."

Henry's coat was windproof and waterproof—a standard snow jacket, different from the usual insulated ones. That's why the newsstand guy made the comment.

"Oh, my God. I've seen enough snow to last a lifetime. Does it ever snow in LA?" Henry replied.

"On really cold days, yeah. But it's been a long time. If you want to ski, head east to Big Bear Lake. They've got decent slopes."

"Nah, no way. Just the sight of snow makes me sick now. Ski it? Might as well just roll down the hill." Henry grumbled, then asked, "All these decorations on the street—getting ready for Christmas?"

"Yeah, Christmas, then New Year. Same every year, no creativity," the man joked.

Henry shot back with a grin, "If it ever changed, that'd be a problem."

"Right. Ha ha." Catching Henry's jab, the man laughed heartily.

Pocketing the change and map, Henry said, "Thanks, I'm off."

"Merry Christmas," the man offered.

"Merry Christmas."

Back in the car, Henry kept driving. It was past noon, and since he'd just gotten off the ferry, he hadn't had lunch. He needed to find a place to eat.

American restaurants had their tiers, and Henry wasn't aiming for the high-end ones. Those places—reservations aside—had dress codes. Show up in a tank top, flip-flops, and shorts, and even a billionaire, let alone a tycoon, would get turned away at the door. In his current outfit, he'd likely be rejected.

Plus, those spots were pricey. Besides business dinners, they were just tourist traps.

Henry found a family-style diner that didn't reek of anything weird. He parked, grabbed his newspaper, map, and backpack, and headed inside.

That backpack held everything he owned—over twenty bundles of hundred-dollar bills, bulging the small bag tight.

Given America's crime rate, Henry never considered leaving the bag in the car. That'd be like begging someone to smash the window and grab it.

Of course, for small expenses, he had loose bills and folded cash stashed in various pockets.

Whenever he had to pay, he'd pat himself down left and right to scrape together the total. It made him look dirt poor, so no one would suspect he was carrying a fortune.

Back before his transmigration, the thing he did best was bluff—either playing dumb or playing dead. Keeping wealth under wraps was practically instinct.

In the afternoon, the diner was nearly empty. Henry picked a sunny spot, set his stuff on the inside seat, and took off his coat.

A waitress soon came over, carrying a coffee pot. "Hot coffee?" she asked.

"Yeah, please?" An empty cup was upside down on the saucer. Henry flipped it over and asked for a coffee.

As the plump waitress poured, she asked, "Need anything else?"

"Got anything to eat, sweetheart? I haven't had lunch yet."

The waitress gave him a perfectly timed eye-roll, as if immune to sweet talk—not rude, but clearly stating her stance. "We've got bacon, sausage, and fried eggs. If you want, I can throw a steak on the grill for you."

"Bring it all, please. I'm starving." Henry downed his coffee in one gulp. "Oh, sweetheart, if you don't mind, leave the pot."

"OK, if you need it." She refilled his cup, left the half-full pot, and headed to the kitchen.

Despite her dismissive expression, the change in her footsteps compared to before hinted she was in a better mood.

Soon, a plate piled high with bacon, sausage, and fried eggs arrived. The waitress wasn't overly careful, but her movements were gentler. "The steak'll be a bit longer. Start on this. Want some bread or biscuits?"

"Some bread, thanks."

She noticed Henry flipping through the map. "Here to study? Sightsee? Or chasing that star dream?" she asked casually.

New book requesting follow-up reads, collections, recommendations—thank you~~