![]() ![]() In the end I settled on a black cami I usually wore to sleep, and paired it with maroon surf shorts that were so tight you could see my middle name. I rummaged through every piece of clothing I owned, trying to find something that passed, but every item had a screen print, a lace appliqué, a bedazzlement somewhere, ruining everything. It would have to be something simple, but special, like the classic Cali style that Ivy and the girls were wearing at the bar. I pressed hard on the gas pedal and zoomed through the unpaved lot, cranking up my window when a rising cloud of red dust threatened to infiltrate my car and grunge up the outfit I had agonized over all morning. I knew my future-the exciting one I was always meant to have-waited for me inside. Just reading it made my heart beat faster. On the east side of the building, the message echoed in Spanish: The official headquarters and manufacturing center for American Apparel was a hulking warehouse painted millennial pink, and it poked out of the craggy wedge of no-man’s-land between the Fashion District and Skid Row like a determined flower.Įmblazoned across the top was a huge banner that read:ĪMERICAN APPAREL IS AN INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION Once I saw it for the first time, I’d never miss it again. I double-checked my MapQuest print- out and slipped the card Ivy gave me back into my wallet. I drove right past the entrance-the unassuming opening in the hedge was easy to overlook-and I had to turn back around to find it. ![]() The Factory sat back from Alameda Street, hidden from the road by a chain-link fence woven with orange bougainvillea.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |