If you asked a rhinoceros to design your city, it would look a lot like Los Angeles.

While in Los Angeles for Journey, I found myself in Hollywood on a Saturday afternoon with a few hours to kill. I located the event starting line and then began to search for coffee, food, and a nice shady spot to read a book and wait out the hottest part of the day. Coffee was easy to find, as was a ham and egg torta from a Thai restaurant filled with Pacific Island artwork. Shade, however, is a technology that the people of Los Angeles have yet to master. As you might expect for an imported luxury item, those lucky few who've managed to get their hands on some tend to keep it securely locked away behind fences and high walls.

After an hour or so of undirected meandering, I realized that I should be tasking. I considered a Reverse Polarity Derive, but I had a feeling that could get ugly. Besides, it's the sort of thing best attempted with the promise of a hot shower and some relaxing music at the end of the day. While slathering on a second coat of sunscreen, I tried to reconstruct the rules for this half-remembered task. I wasn't at all confident about the no-stoplight case, but it turns out I guessed correctly.

I was careful to play fair, suppressing my natural tendency to change speed and anticipate stop light changes when approaching intersections. None the less, I couldn't have scripted a more appropriate path: after passing the local parasutro and Hollywood and Vine (as seen on television), it lead to exactly the sort of place I had been looking for, at exactly the right time.

Oh, and this task also prompted a revelation of startling elegance: the rhinocity principle. When viewed through the eyes of a rhinoceros, everything that might seem irrational or troubling about Los Angeles makes perfect sense. (I won't be discussing this point any further in this praxis, but I'm convinced it is a powerful discovery.)

Here's the map.