I flew to Los Angeles from Florida in march 1996. I took a taxi at the airport. The cab was as big as a van because it drives a lot of people going in the Uptown direction. In Los Angeles, you have to take a city bus or a taxi to get anywhere. A huge, sprawling city. We drove for a long, long time. The taxi driver didn't know exactly where he was going, so he kept asking questions to passengers. The conversation in the car was interesting. Those who have been there know that this is a city which lives for show-biz and Hollywood. And that there are a lot of people involved in film, either as actors, managers, agents, etc. Anyway, in the taxi, there were two other men in the front and a woman in the back next to me, she looked a little older than me. She was quiet the whole time. From the conversation between the two men in front, I realized that one of them was English. He was of a more neglected appearance, and had a guitar with him; the other was a local person who answered his questions and explained him about life in America. It immediately dawn to me that an Englishman had come to seek his fortune in Hollywood. He behaved very respectfully towards everything what was American and marveled at everything (he reminded me on Slovene people, who behave like slaves when they see someone who speak english...). The other one was an American, fat, easy-going, as we have in our head picture about Americans. In my opinion, the Englishman wanted to know about the career possibilities, but did not dare to ask directly. So they talked and talked, and the two of us in the back had to listen willy-nilly. They talked mostly about music. The Englishman explained that he plays in a band and asked the American how he could get a job here. Both were fascinated by Eric Clapton. The Englishman asked: "Is there any cheap hotel here?" I thought to myself: wow, I'm not the only one who never has money and always looks for the cheapest food and hotels, etc. The American replied: "Yes, there are many of them here, it is best to go to This and this Avenue". Then the taxi driver stopped and the woman sitting next to me opened the door and got out. Before she closed the door, she said, "Well, cowboy, Clapton lives in this house, and "so and so" lives on the other side (I forgot who). Have a good time and I wish you the best of luck!", she pointed at the Englishman. We drove on. The American came out next. The Englishman was silent the whole time. After a while the taxi driver said: This is Franklin Avenue. I went out and said to them: "Good luck!".