Under a blue velvet sky of a summer's evening lies Los Angeles' broad La Cienega Boulevard, a street of restaurants in unearthly shapes, of neon in colors not known elsewhere, of low white buildingsĀa street, in sum, of vast self-assurance. Of all the streets in the endless palm-and-asphalt plains that stretch from Pasadena to Long Beach, this is where the Los Angeles art galleries cluster, and every Monday night a large crowd gathers to go to them. From all over come matrons out for culture, art students, kids on an inexpensive date, a scattering...
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