los feliz noir

I've never quite understood why there's so much rain in Raymond Chandler's fiction, when it only seems to descend a few times a year, these days ... But in the early hours of today we did, indeed, have a couple of hours of determined drizzle, and so the after-effects, of sun groggily rising on the damp street.  Somehow, the shadow and the roof rack on the car make it look as though this is a flash-back to the 1930s, when our street was known as Pill Hill, being full of doctors and dentists (our house was built by a dentist, and I fear may be haunted by molars).