The Hollywood sign loomed in the hazy distance, its faded letters barely visible through the smog. The road leading up to it was strewn with litter - candy wrappers, empty soda cans, a lone sneaker. A motley crew of locals ambled along, looking like they just stepped out of a 90s grunge music video.

As I drove past, I cracked my window for some fresh air and immediately regretted it. The breeze carried a distinct smell of broken dreams - part marijuana, part regret, with top notes of failed audition and rejection letter. I wrinkled my nose.

According to my aunt Mildred, whose personal knowledge of LA is limited to bingeing 90210 reruns, this town is crawling with plastic starlets who've pumped their faces so full of filler they resemble ambulatory grocery bags. But something tells me Mildred might not have the most up-to-date info on life in La La Land. The last time she left our tiny Georgia town was to attend her senior prom in 1984.

As I wrestled with carsickness, panic, and some questionable street tacos, I felt both thrilled and terrified to be trading in small town living for the nonstop chaos of the big city. Blaring horns and squealing tires were a far cry from evenings filled with gentle cricket song back home. I was here to make my dreams come true - or potentially the biggest mistake of my life. Only time would tell if I'd just willingly stuck my head in the lion's mouth.

My phone buzzed and Sarah's name popped up. "You close?" she crackled, her voice barely audible over the background noise.

"Just passed the Hollywood sign," I confirmed, tension and excitement warring within me.

"Perfect!" she replied brightly. "I'm at Psychic Connections on the corner. Grab a caffeine fix to ground yourself, then swing on by!"

I eyed the narrow streets dubiously. "Coffee, check. Sense of direction..." I hesitated, gripping the phone tighter. "Still working on that part."

Sarah laughed. "Don't worry, I'll talk you in. This city may be a concrete jungle but at least there's a aspiring actor on every corner to ask for help when you get lost!"

"Oh yeah, that's reassuring!" I snorted. "With my luck I'd ask one for directions and end up as a human prop in someperformance art piece about the futility of existence."

Sarah cackled with delight. "Remember that time we got lost trying to find Coney Island and ended up in Far Rockaway?"

I shuddered at the memory. "I still wake up screaming over that hellish subway ride back to Manhattan."

"Hey, how was I supposed to know the maps don't actually make sense?" Sarah replied defensively. "I really thought the F train went to Fun Town, not the Middle of Nowhere!"

I had to laugh. "Well... at least we got a good story out of it. I'm sure the saga of me being attacked by angry seagulls and a roving band of raccoons will slay at parties for years to come!"

Sarah giggled. "As long as you don't tell anyone we paid actual money for that ferry ride, I'll allow it. Now get over here and help me prop up what's left of my dignity!"

I smiled, feeling myself start to relax. "Mum's the word. What's the name of this coffee shop again?"

"It's called Psychic Connections. There's a huge crystal display in the window and the whole place reeks of nag champa. You can't miss it!"

"Oooh, sounds groovy!" I exclaimed. "Be there in five, save me a vegan scone if they have any left!"

I could hear the smile in Sarah's voice. "You got it, sister! Now get your ass over here."

As the call ended I felt myself breathe a little easier. Sarah was my port in the storm, my lifeline in this concrete jungle. We'd met freshman year, two small-town escapists with big dreams of making it in the big leagues. Sarah already had a foot in the door with an entry-level gig at a production company. Meanwhile, I was armed with a degree in screenwriting and a slew of offbeat stories I was itching to tell.

We bonded instantly over our passion for the arts and spent many a weekend traipsing around the city, exploring new neighborhoods and stuffing ourselves silly. Over time our friendship bloomed into sisterhood. When we both got into grad school at UCLA it seemed kismet.

And even though Sarah scored a job in LA right after graduating, while I headed back south to regroup, we remained as close as ever despite the physical distance. She was the cream to my coffee, the jelly to my peanut butter. Where she led, I followed, no questions asked. I'd trailed her out here to LaLaLand the minute she said jump. And now here I was, ready to risk it all for the dream.

I pulled into the packed parking lot of Psychic Connections and took a second to gape at the palm trees standing sentry out front like a troupe of exotic circus performers. As I stepped out into the blast furnace heat, it became abundantly clear this was not Georgia anymore. The hot wind practically slapped me in the face as it roared down the street, sending discarded food wrappers and branches flying. Definitely no sleepy southern breeze.

I jumped as a chorus of angry car horns erupted just behind me in a cacophony of chaos, underlaid by the rise and fall of sirens wailing in the distance. Over it all hovered the rhythmic thump of helicopter blades - no doubt another celebrity making their way to Rodeo Drive. My frazzled nerves barely had time to process it all before the glass door swung open and the sounds of the coffee shop ( and yes some nag champa) enveloped me in a warm embrace.

And there in the crowd was Sarah, waving eagerly, her dazzling grin shining like a beacon through the chaos. I made a beeline for her table, exhaling in relief.

"Welcome to La La Land!" Sarah exclaimed, engulfing me in a hug that melted away the last remaining tendrils of panic.

"It's a lot to take in," I admitted honestly, accepting the frothy mug she offered.

"You ain't seen nothing yet!" Sarah replied with a playful wink. "Just wait til you see our place!"

I paused mid-sip, eyeing her warily. "Please tell me you didn't adopt any pets without asking me first. I'm still recovering from the whole ferret debacle our sophomore year."

Sarah threw her head back and cackled. "No pets, I swear! Although the landlord did say something about a slight rodent issue..."

I groaned loudly. "Why do I feel like I'm going to be starring in a real life version of The Sting before long?"

Sarah waved her hand breezily. "It's not that bad! And the views totally make up for any pest problems."

I followed her gaze out the window to the alley, where a fat pigeon was attempting to choke down an abandoned bagel nearly the size of its head.

"As long as I don't find rat pellets in my cereal I think I'll cope," I replied. "So give it to me straight - what fresh hell awaits at Casa de Sarah?"

"Okay, confession," Sarah admitted with a dramatic sigh. "The walls are super thin so you hear everything. And the hot water's iffy on good days. But the landlord promised he's 'looking into it!'"

I laughed heartily. "Honey please, after four years of dorm life this sounds like the penthouse suite. Now take me to my new palace!"

Grinning, Sarah grabbed my hand, pulling me up. "At your service, m'lady!"

The apartment was a charmingly shabby chic two bedroom tucked away on a sleepy corner of Venice Beach. The neighbors were surely hiding some intriguing secrets behind those faded mint green walls.

Sarah had decorated the space with her signature haphazard boho flair which, near as I could tell, was just a fancier way of saying junk piled everywhere draped in strands of Christmas lights. Mismatched carpets layered atop each other like geological eons. A leaning tower of paint-smeared canvases loomed precariously in one corner, akin to street art come to life.

"Here she is!" Sarah exclaimed, ushering me inside the comfortably cluttered abode. "Try not to knock anything over, I just finished feng shui-ing. "

My gaze fell upon a framed poster proclaiming "You Are What You Think!" in bold caps. Before I could comment, Sarah whisked it out of my hands, busying herself hanging photos of sunsets along one wall. Huh. Guess she wasn't in the mood for tough introspection at the moment.

I plopped down on the lumpy loveseat, the springs squeaking their displeasure. As I unpacked my meager belongings my eyes skimmed past Sarah to land on a framed photo leaning against the TV. Squinting, I realized with mild alarm it was a black and white nude, hung casually near a haphazard stack of yoga magazines. Odd choice but hey, no judgement about self-love from me.

Sarah flushed slightly, following my gaze. "I know, little weird," she admitted with an embarrassed chuckle. "But a girl can dream right?"

"No doubt!" I agreed lightly, making a mental note to find a more appropriate spot to relocate it later when she wasn't looking. No need to harsh her self-esteem groove.

Sarah quickly changed the subject, clapping her hands decisively as she headed towards the kitchen. "So, spaghetti sounds good for dinner?"

"You know just how to woo me!" I teased. The jet lag was just starting to catch up, enveloping me like a weighted blanket. But my growling stomach wasn't ready to rest just yet.

Over bowls of carby goodness washed down with a bottle of Trader Joe's finest bargain wine, we launched into our usual late night gabfest - cementing the fact that no matter how much life changed around us, our sisterhood never would.

~

The sun sank slowly behind the palm trees outside our apartment, ending its flashy showbiz stint for the day. Sarah and I sat on the balcony making guesses about our new neighbors while waiting for the last light to drain completely from the sky.

I must have been chewing my lip, because Sarah suddenly stopped and turned to me. "You're going to nail that interview tomorrow. I can feel it. What's the plan if you get the job?"

I considered. "Well...best case scenario, I could get hired as a writer's assistant. Apparently the benefits are good - like free studio lunches!" I rubbed my stomach, which was still distended from Sarah's carbo loaded pasta.

"Ooh la la!" Sarah nodded approvingly.

"Or maybe I'll just marry rich instead. Know any single millionaires?" I joked.

Sarah shook her head, chuckling. "Girl, you don't need no man! Just follow your dreams!" She twirled dramatically as she took my hand.

We made our way down Abbott Kinney Blvd, past street vendors packing up unsold wares for the night. We were off to The Butcher's Daughter, some trendy new eatery Sarah claimed had the best gluten-free everything in town.

I rubbernecked like a tourist as we strolled by murals of abstract blobs masquerading as "art" and boutiques selling wispy dresses I couldn't afford on a freelancer's salary. Shoals of Lululemon-clad yoga moms power walked past, chasing their grass-fed juice cleanse dreams.

It felt good indulging backyard Hollywood fantasies, yet part of me couldn't silence the nagging voice worrying Aunt Mildred was currently overfeeding my goldfish - the fear of missing out on life back home plaguing every expat. Oh, the bittersweet sacrifice of following your bliss! Like choosing between fresh cookies or salted caramel ice cream.

We passed a billboard displaying a preposterously handsome male model gazing pensively down at the scraggly birds below like a modern-day angel. I squinted at the artful photo, trying to deduce what product he was selling - high-end vodka? Diamond watches? Some new erectile dysfunction drug? It was anyone's guess.

"Who's that yummy piece of eye candy?" I asked Sarah, aiming for nonchalance.

She followed my gaze up to the billboard, sighing wistfully. "That's Daniel Hunter. The latest Hollywood heartthrob."

I raised my eyebrows with interest. "Heartthrob huh? Is he more Channing Tatum or Zac Efron?"

"Oh he puts them all to shame," Sarah replied earnestly. "The man is walking sin poured into True Religions. But fair warning -" she raised one manicured finger for emphasis. "He comes with baggage."

"Baggage?" I echoed.

Sarah nodded, launching eagerly into an explanation. "He's known for being a bit...wild. The late night parties, the modelizing, that public drunken meltdown at the Golden Globes..."

"Yikes." I winced. "Let me guess - he's the type who throws temper tantrums if the champagne isn't properly chilled?"

"Ding ding ding!" Sarah crowed. "Absolute nightmare for his handlers. But even I have to admit the man has serious talent."

I gazed up again at his Photoshopped perfection. "Maybe he's just lonely at the top?" I mused softly.

Sarah's snort conveyed exactly what she thought of that idea. "With that face and family money? Honey, the only hardship that man has endured is choosing which sports car to drive on any given day. Although..." she hesitated. "I did hear he comes from a tragic background."

"Tragic?" I asked.

Sarah lowered her voice, like she was telling a ghost story at summer camp. "Apparently his journalist mom was killed investigating some evil corporation. Pretty dark."

I shuddered, the warm night suddenly feeling chillier. We hurried on towards the welcoming glow of the Butcher's Daughter. Maybe some dessert would sweeten things up.

We'd stuffed ourselves with vegan tapas( and yes some magpies) and laughter into the wee hours and I was feeling warm, safe, and so very far from the world I knew.

It was just before we were preparing our beds when Sarah stopped me in the middle and held my hand. "You've got this Emily! Just be yourself."

I smiled. "Well, myself might need to tone down the eccentricities a little tomorrow."

Sarah laughed. "Are we talking the interpretive dancing to 90s ballads or your impression of a mandrake root?"

I grimaced. "Hey! My mandrake was convincing! But maybe plan B is dressing and behaving like a normal human..."

Sarah giggled again and pulled me into a quick hug. As weird as I was, Sarah never failed to appreciate my quirks. With a friend like her, I really could do anything.

"Break a leg tomorrow!" She whispered in my ear.

Something told me I was going to need all the luck I could get.

~