In high school, the jocks are on crutches; in college, it's the drunk freshman who slipped on ice; and in the rest of America, grown ups get hurt in hockey leagues, or on ski trips, or they just have bad knees; but, in Los Angeles, I'm telling you: nobody is on crutches. I know because I've been looking for three months.
Friday night was the very first time I spotted someone else on crutches in L.A. I begged this stranger to take a picture with me outside the movie theater. We had a moment. He tore his ACL; I had a tumor; kindred spirits.
Oh, and if you ever need a hug, wait near a valet stand on Hollywood Blvd. with crutches. The more vulnerable you look, the better. Some drunk nut bag is sure to wrap his arms around you. Or maybe I'm just special.