My crappy apartment shares an alley with a paper supply company. Glamorous, I know. The Imperial Paper Company happens to be the distributer for a large number of major studios, like Disney, Sony, and Paramount. Every day (at obscenely early hours), these huge trucks lumber through the alley and park right outside my house. At first I thought it was cool. I even imagined stowing away in the back and hitching a ride to Hollywood Proper. (Despite it's deceptive moniker, North Hollywood is located a good fifteen minutes down the 101 from Real Hollywood. Thirty in traffic).
One bedroom, Imperial Paper Company-Adjacent.
Don't you wish you lived in this prime location?
I also briefly considered seducing a teamster just to get an 'in.' (Emphasis on "briefly." That was a desperate moment.) The novelty soon wore off though. I realized today that this proximity to gruff drivers in plaid loading up boxes of paper products destined to fill the printers of the more creative and better-paid studio employees, is probably the closest I'll ever get to show business. I wish that paper would eventually display words I wrote on it, but it seems doubtful at this point.