I was leaving L.A. yesterday, but the 110 and 10 were being absurdly difficult—they had different ideas: You're not going anywhere, Pal.
Tired of traveling slower than a sloth, I got off on Maple and headed north toward downtown. Find a place to eat. Have a beer. Watch some baseball. Wait. Coronado's was the perfect place: authentic tacos, chile rellenos, and an open view directly across the street to ... no way ... The Last Bookstore!
What better way to beat L.A. traffic than checking out the whimsically designed book sculptures; perusing the eccentric shelves and former bank vaults housing obscure horrors of grim books; or simply strolling into the arched grottos—through the labyrinths made literally out of books—of The Last Bookstore.
Inside the Rare Books Room, Leaving Las Vegas caught my eye behind the glass.
Sydney Zekley, as engaging, enthusiastic and helpful a curator of rare books I've ever met, was delightful to talk to. She schooled me on the fine art of identifying first editions. As I left The Last Bookstore, I found it amusing how frustrated I'd been trying to leave L.A. two hours ago, and yet how happy I was now leaving downtown with Leaving Las Vegas instead. My drive home was a breeze.
Signed first editions of John O'Brien's first novel are scarce. I was lucky to find it.