Read Part I. My first full—therefore official—day in LA was as perfect as a day of complete and utter freedom could possibly be. I started early to make the most of my time here; the goal was to beat the infamous traffic, grab a quick breakfast, and visit as many places on my West Hollywood To-Go list as possible. Beaming was my first stop. I ordered the “Sexy Mayan” (the most delicious, spiced smoothie: a concoction of bananas, dates, cinnamon, cayenne, and cacao), and apparently, that came a side of one chatty multi-hyphenate. I planned to sip and write for an hour until 10am when Melrose started to wake up, but the barista—skinny and pale, so obviously not a California native—seemed to miss all the cues for want of solitude. Thrice he piped up as if unaware of social cues, the most egregious offense occurring after I’d moved away from his station to settle in a nook across the room. It didn’t matter that I’d found a spot in the sun for morning pages; he had a story to tell. Beaming Barista just moved to LA to—you guessed it—pursue music. I was experiencing what every New Jerseyan/Yorker hated about the…