Dear Me,
Streets in other cities may have identity problems. I’d have to do research to find out. But when I direct someone to my house on a about a 30-degree hill in Silverlake, I tell them, “Go up Fountain which becomes Hyperion which becomes Rowena which becomes Glendale Boulevard, etcetera.”
But identity doesn’t have to be a problem to a street or anyone or anything else as long as you know that you’re being what you’re being when you’re being it. A pizza crustmaker, for instance, while he’s tossing the dough, can end up wearing the dough on his head if the ceiling hasn’t grabbed it first, but that doesn't matter because he is a pizza crustmaker.
An exception is a shrink who drugs and coerces his patients into unwanted favors. By that act he’s being what society is growing to expect a shrink to be: a subperson to give as much attention to as you do the glue on the back of a postage stamp.
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