It’s July 5th. 5 am. The City of Angels lies asleep and hung over, vaguely smelling of sulfur. But from somewhere in the direction of this photo, the voice of Axl Rose blares, headlining an apartment party whose guests have refused to yield their reverie to the night. “I love Pearl Jam!” shouts a wide-eyed young woman to those still standing in the group.
“Totally!” chimes back the man beside her, four years her father’s junior, as they lean in again to the glass table before them, riding out the last of the darkness on rails of snow white. Welcome to the Jungle.