The first time I walked into Cinnabar, I recognized one of the owners. Flame (that's her name) used to be close to one of our favorite neighbors when I was a kid. To this day, whether I haven't visited in two months or two years, she remembers my name, asks how my mom is, and fills me in on what my former neighbors are doing. Yes, at such moments, L.A. does feel like a small town. (Like I'd know a small town if it jumped up and bit me.)

After May 15, I won't know where to find her for a while, but I know she'll turn up. She and her partner-brother, Alvin, may open a new restaurant after their long-awaited vacation, she says, but whatever they do, they won't be doing it on Glendale's Auto Row.

OK, that's it. This may seem like the beginning of a detailed and marvelously longwinded memoir, but it's not. Just a few more pictures and we're done.  

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