He hates L.A.
It's where he met Adam, nervous and hoping like fuck he'd get the gig. It's where that first - only - tour ended, high on life and no longer a gig. It's where they lived together, for far too short a time. It's where they got married, short marriage though it was. It's where a freak storm and a drunk driver conspired to take the two best things in his life away: Adam, and his music.
Now, he can't find it in himself to play. The guitars and basses, the sheet music, the journals of lyrics and more than half of his music collection - it's all in storage, that limbo between owned and abandoned. He lives in a house that's too big for him on money from his and Adam's insurance. He works a shit job just for something to do, because he's not quite so far gone as to just suicide.
Yeah, he hates it. It's too big and too crowded and it smells, and for all it's lauded as a place of acceptance, no one understands.
He'd move away, but there's too much holding him here.
He'd move away, but it's where Adam is buried.