

You may have to walk for close to an hour to get from one terminal to another, for instance, in the absence of something as basic as a shuttle. When added to American airport security systems, two-hour layovers can turn into mad dashes to make your flight. They recently opened a VIP terminal that essentially provides the sort of experience you get at a regular airport for the rich and famous who just can’t put up with the airport in its natural state anymore. It’s a wreck, just farcically bad by any metric a reasonable urban planner or city theorist or rational human being might use.
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A city that evolved in lockstep with the auto industry, it isolates its 9.5 million people in their cars spread out across more than 4,000 square miles, militating against the most basic aspects of what makes cities work, things like interacting, gathering, seeing each other and learning how to coexist. It’s not a coincidence that road rage was born here, little daily eruptions of fury like geysers that occasionally explode volcanically in Watts or South Central. If there is ever a revolution to overthrow the powers that underwrite that persistently injustice-riddled nation, it will likely start in this urban razor’s edge straddling that greatest of tectonic metaphors, the San Andreas Fault.Įxcept, boy, is it glorious.
