I trudged down University Avenue, pea coat rubbing against my ears and face stinging from the cold. “It’s March! Doesn’t that mean winter is over” I asked Rich.

“Winter will hang around ‘til April or May in the city, surfer boy.” Rich, a well heeled northeasterner from Connecticut, replied with a laugh. It was my Freshman year at NYU and the only thing that had gotten me through the dreariness and bitter cold of December, January and February were dreams of springtime in New York City.

Growing up in Santa Monica, March always brought sunshine and beach weather. With March, gone were the days of wearing sweaters and blankets around the house. In were days of shorts and sandals and smoothies.

I have spent the past four Marches away from LA, stuck in the winter hangover of the city. Today was the first March day I have spent in LA since my senior year in high school and it was glorious!

I awoke to weather in the mid-seventies. The sun beamed through my open car windows as I drove down Main Street to ZJ’s Boarding House. I bought my self a pair of fifteen-dollar sandals and yanked off my Converse on the sidewalk webbing my toes into the soft Styrofoam sole. I walked in the warm sand of the beach surrounded by bikinis and surfboards and kids playing games in the water.

For the past 10 months I have lived in LA due to circumstance, today was the first day I have spent here by choice.

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