About

I rent the back house behind a larger one on a street in Agoura Hills. The front house has a lemon tree that drops fruit on my side of the fence. The owner says to take them. I take two at a time so they don't sit in a bowl and go soft.

I work weekdays in an office park off the 101, the kind with a fountain that is off more often than it is on. On days off I drive toward the water and then usually stop short of it. Parking near the bluff is a project. The point of the drive is often the turnout before the last hill, where the fog either is or isn't.

This is a notebook for those drives, and for the house: the cooler that leaks, the screen that sticks, the morning the marine layer quit at the ridge. The name of the site is the direction, not a claim that I live on the sand. I don't.