“You wanted Peruvian, right?” she says. Before I can point out that was her choice, not mine, she continues, “The best place I know is in Hollywood.”“Hollywood?” This is a name I’ve read quite a bit since I shifted into researching popular culture. Despite my reservations, I’m intrigued. “How far?”“Just a few stops.”I relent, and we board the next westbound train. “You have been to Hollywood before, haven’t you?” she asks after we take seats next to the door in the nearly empty car. “No.” There’s no Hollywood in New Cardiff.“So I’m right. You’re not from here. Where, then?”“Far from here.”She smirks. “Never heard of that place.”I shrug, but don’t give her any more.Neither of us says anything until after the train makes its first stop. When the doors close again, Iffy says, “Okay, so Hollywood’s probably not what you think it is. The one you see on TV or read about is more up here.” She taps her head. “The physical Hollywood is a little rougher around the edges than you tourist types are expecting.”“I’m not a tourist.”
