Buzz, buzz, buzz—
The roar of the engine continuously pounded his eardrums as the car slowly passed under the arched gate of Warner Bros., and the view of the intersection directly ahead suddenly opened up.
Blue sky, white clouds, lush greenery, and a glimpse of a blue lake hidden behind the trees, reflecting the golden sunlight of California.
He stepped on the accelerator, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the Disney studio sign, but before he could get a good look, the accelerating car had already sped away.
His scattered thoughts had just begun to gather when a turn revealed large amusement park rides suspended above the trees, accompanied by laughter and screams, flashing across the sky and quickly disappearing behind the trees, then turning into a stream of light vanishing into the strong wind.
So…
He must have just passed Universal Studios, and the audition location was Burbank, Los Angeles's largest film studio?
Everything finally felt real.
2000, Los Angeles, Hollywood.
Even though smartphones hadn't appeared yet, even though streaming media was nowhere to be seen, even though social network was still a specialized term in communication studies, even though AI hadn't yet triggered a new wave of discussion.
But at the same time, it also meant that the film industry hadn't entered the Hero era, and classics of commerce and art were still waiting for an explosion.
This was the City of Angels.
Opportunities were everywhere.
Perhaps this time he could firmly grasp them and live out his own colors.
He floored the accelerator, and the splendor of California blurred past his eyes in a halo of light, until the constant flow of traffic blocked his way, and then Anson realized he had entered the city.
This was clearly the intersection of North Highland Avenue and Hollywood Boulevard. Looking to the right, he could see the familiar Chinese Theatre standing not far away, but strangely, the Kodak Theatre/Dolby Theatre, which would later become widely known, was still a busy construction site.
"Hey, handsome sports car!"
Whistles, laughter, and shouts erupted at the traffic light intersection.
Anson glanced at the car's navigation system, which looked like an unreadable book, and his vision went black. Although the 2000 car navigation system had made significant progress, it was still imperfect; the map was like a geological survey cross-section, a flat map marked with a pile of incomprehensible symbols.
To him, the car navigation was not very similar to a paper map, but identical.
So, Anson rolled down the window and offered a smile.
"Excuse me, how do I get to Melrose Avenue?"
Swish, swish, swish.
Eyes from all around rustled and gathered, one by one, people couldn't help but stand on tiptoe and peer over, some looking at the car, others at the person, their eyes brimming with suppressed excitement and joy.
Anson leaned out slightly.
"Hey, I'm not Edward, and you're not Vivian."
Boom!
A burst of laughter.
Clearly, Anson's playful remark about the classic scene from "pretty woman" resonated with them.
Then, an actor dressed as the Scarecrow from "The Wizard of Oz," who was standing on Hollywood Boulevard taking photos with tourists, emerged from the crowd and pointed along the north-south direction.
"Just follow North Highland Avenue all the way south. After about seven blocks, you'll reach Melrose."
"Thank you, have a good day."
The car sped away, leaving behind a cacophony of chatter and noise clashing with the engine's roar, eyes still reluctantly following the Aston Martin's silhouette.
After entering the city, the car's speed couldn't pick up. Even if he wasn't worried about red lights or speeding tickets, it was impossible. The surging traffic from all directions completely grounded the sports car's wings, and whether he wanted to or not, he had to proceed slowly, like cruising down a flower street.
Under the curious gazes along the way, the destination finally appeared in sight.
Melrose Avenue, which later became the Fashion trend center of Los Angeles due to the influx of numerous trendy brands, was still a flamboyant and unconventional gypsy district, gathering a large number of antique shops, vinyl record stores, comic book stores, and private cinemas, undoubtedly becoming an artist gathering place.
After Melrose Avenue, one more block forward was Anson's residence, a detached villa at the intersection of North Highland Avenue and Oak Avenue.
This two-story villa, occupying twenty units, had a front yard with pine trees and a fountain, and a small garden covered with ivy. Over the cream-colored low wall, one could see lounge chairs and a barbecue grill in the garden.
The decor was typical Spanish style, with intricate patterns of blue and red tiles clashing to create a subtle luxury. Mosaic embellishments could be seen on the dark green windows, and small angel brass statues for sinks and ivy-covered swings were quietly hidden amidst the greenery.
Spacious, bright.
Understated, luxurious.
Unfortunately, this was not Anson's property; he was merely a tenant.
Although this was not Beverly Hills or West Hollywood, it was still in the heart of Los Angeles. A monthly rent of two thousand dollars was an unimaginable price in 2000; however, Anson was not living here alone.
First floor, two bedrooms, plus a living Room, kitchen, dining Room, and storage Room, etc.
Second floor, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and an entertainment Room.
There were a total of five residents here.
Among them, Anson used the master bedroom on the second floor alone, the only large Room with a private bathroom.
A group of friends with different dreams and goals lived together, creating a college fraternity atmosphere, seeking their place amidst the glitz of Hollywood, yet finding another kind of fun.
Pushing open the door, he immediately saw a figure sprawled out on the floor in a large 'X' shape, motionless, his right hand supporting his head, his left leg folded. He looked as if he was imitating a classic dance pose from a Madonna music video, eyes wide open, as if he had died with grievances.
If one didn't know better, upon entering, one might be scared out of their wits, thinking they had entered the wrong film set.
This scene, this situation, the first reaction would be to think it was a medical emergency, or even worse, a corpse, and dialing 911 might not even lead to finding the correct phone buttons.
Anson… was no different.
A shock!
His heart skipped a beat, and he instinctively took a step forward, quickly assessing the situation. It was a full beat later that he came to his senses, the familiar memories in the original owner's mind awakening, the reins of reason returning to his grasp, and a helpless smile curved his lips as he walked directly past the 'corpse' in front of him.
"Chris, what's wrong, the audition didn't go well?"
Chris—Chris Evans, who was lying on the ground playing dead, didn't move his head or body, continuing to maintain his vampiric posture of utter despair, but at least his vocal cords hadn't forgotten how to work, his drawn-out ending sounds filled with a lively and cheerful tone.
"Ah… a disaster, a disaster…"
The future famous Captain America was not yet that strong, but he already showed subtle signs of fitness. His face, full of collagen, had a hint of baby fat, and he was wearing a "Star Trek" T-shirt, looking exactly like a pretty boy who had just run out of the american pie set.
This was Roommate number one.