Los Angeles, City of Angels, does indeed have bridges which we have sat under (but not taken any drugs). You might not think it to look at them, but the inhabitants of that fair city are indeed angels. That is to say, they are angels in the Dogma sense of never having to go to the toilet.

Two hours on the streets, trying to find a public toilet. Tried the malls; nothing. Tried the supermarkets; nothing. Tried the police station; nothing. Tried to buy something in a coffee house to use their restroom; wasn't one. Nowhere, but nowhere, were there any sodding toilets. I should end this by giving would-be travellers advice on exactly where these mythical things are hidden, but I really can't. In the end, I just wee-ed on a grass verge in Beverly Hills. That'll teach 'em.

Originally published at Where Is Greg?.