The camera flicked across the faces of people of all skin tones who are always performing tragedies and comedies in this city.
That kind-hearted young policeman burned the evidence he had just committed on impulse in the wilderness;
and his partner who had never been used to racist psychology was embracing and crying with his elderly sick father;
the district attorney Locked the door of the room that her suspicious wife had changed for N times,
and the Spanish locksmith who was discriminated against by his wife was lying on the edge of the window and looking at the street lamp in the distance.
Behind him, he had just experienced what happened. The sleeping wife and daughter who had a thrilling "shooting incident".
The black director drove alone in the suburbs, and there was little snow in the sky. He received a call from his wife at home, saying, I love you; the
black detective stood alone at the place where his brother was involved, bending down and picking up one half buried in the soil. Gadgets, that is something that killed my brother;
another black car thief sent a car of Asian smuggled workers to China Town,
confused and ignorant, will they become the protagonists of the next film and television work...
heavy The music gradually faded and replaced with "Maybe Tomorrow" by Stereophonics.
A car suddenly stopped in front of the camera, and the car behind followed behind. The two owners jumped out of the car and quarreled.
The camera rotates and rises, panning towards the blue-black night dotted with lights and snowflakes in the distance.
This is just a small intersection in LA, just a little crash.
The subtitles showed this line:
According to records, the last time it snowed in Los Angeles was February 8, 1989.
I don’t understand what this is.
But in the deep, maybe tomorrow I'll find my way home...
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