I was in Los Angeles last weekend for a meeting with my writing partner and some other Hollywood types. During a break in the weekend’s meetings, I strolled around West Hollywood looking for different musical landmarks. I walked down Fairfax, in search of a particular recording studio, and heard a deep growl as I came upon a Jaguar dealer.
It wasn’t the growl of a XK’s V8 engine. As I learned when I stopped in my tracks and looked down, through the iron gate at my left, the ominous sound was coming from a black doberman. He was soon joined by a partner who soundlessly appeared.
I guess in Los Angeles, maybe you need more than just those silly “Protected by XYZ Security” signs posted.