I’m in LA now, visiting the kids.

I came up to the rooftop terrace to work, thinking I’d have a nice view of the hills and the valley. But there’s no view. Just a gray landscape beset by smog.

“No, it’s not smog,” this Latino guy that was cleaning up tells me. “It’s smoke. It’s coming from over there, where I live. It’s a lot worse over there.”

The streets are mostly deserted. The stores are closed – as are almost all of the restaurants, because they still don’t allow inside seating. Those that have tables outside are serving customers, but they are aren’t crowded. It looks like the city has given up.

So many of Hollywood’s apocalyptic movies were shot in LA. Here are two bits of B-roll that could be inserted into Blade Runner 3:

1.- Last night, I was sitting on the curb in front of the hotel, working and smoking a cigar. (They don’t like cigar smokers in California.) A homeless woman came up to me and stood by me, muttering. I tried to ignore her but she wasn’t going to go away. So I handed her a dollar. She took it and furiously ripped it up, threw it on the ground, and walked away.

2.- This morning, as I entered the hotel, two young Black guys who were exiting stopped me.

“That’s a Richard Mille,” one said, looking at my watch.

I acknowledged that it was.

“How much you pay for it? A buck twenty-five?”

I explained that it was a very early model and that I paid “only” thirty-five.

“That’s crazy!” he said. “Can I take a photo?”

“Sure,” I said.

He did.

“How much you want for it?” the other one said.

“Oh, I don’t want to sell it,” I said.

“I’ll give you eighty right now,” he said.

“You know your friend was talking thousands?” I said (only later realizing how racist that was).

“Hey, dude. I know watches,” he scoffed. “And I love Richard Mille. I’ll give you eighty-five thousand cash. Right now.”

I looked at him. He was dead serious.

What a town!