From Flower Vase to Film Emperor in Hollywood

The Hayworth Theatre, a small, unknown theater located on Wilshire Boulevard, is less than two kilometers from Anson's residence. James Franco and Seth Rogen's latest play will be performed here.

During rehearsals, James often ran back and forth as a form of extra exercise.

But today, Anson and Chris weren't planning to walk—

Parking the car in a roadside parking space, Chris dragged two cardboard boxes out of the back seat, filled to the brim with promotional posters and related T-shirts.

This was James' idea, and every audience member today could receive one for free.

Anson was about to step forward to help when Chris suddenly raised his head, "Ah, I forgot to buy water, not for the audience, but for the actors, a bottle of mineral water for each person."

Anson glanced at Chris, "I'll go. If you can't manage alone, go inside and call James and Seth. They should have brought their own when they left this morning."

Chris laughed heartily, "There's no need for help, it's not heavy."

As he spoke, Chris stacked the two boxes, easily picked them up, and turned to walk towards the theater door, his head held high as if he were carrying nothing at all.

Anson closed the car door, turned, and scanned the block. He was worried he would be like a headless fly without direction, after all, he had only arrived in this strange city a few hours ago. Then he saw a Ralphs, and a sense of familiarity guided his footsteps.

It seemed that it should be a supermarket.

Tall trees lined the street, and a parking lot was circled in front of the supermarket entrance, making it convenient for customers to organize their shopping lists. Neat rows of shopping carts were parked on the side of the bushes. Perhaps he could use one to transport the mineral water.

Involuntarily, his gaze glanced at the tree. It wasn't the palm trees that were ubiquitous on the streets of California, but more like a sycamore, its umbrella-shaped canopy lush and vigorously unfolded, casting a shade.

Wait, it doesn't seem like a sycamore either. Could it be a mango?

But, can mangoes be grown in the climate of Los Angeles?

Snap!

Just as Anson passed by, something fell from the treetop, a dark, blurry mass, emitting a strange smell in the scorching golden halo.

Anson instinctively pulled away a little, took a closer look, and a series of question marks popped up wildly.

That, was a shoe. Platform shoes.

So, was Kiki the Little Witch passing by overhead just now?

Anson took half a step back, looked up along the canopy, and immediately saw a figure curled up into a ball between the branches and leaves, like an injured kitten, revealing a section of a small leg like a lotus root hanging down, trying to hide the figure by shrugging her shoulders.

But obviously, it had little effect.

The figure seemed to notice Anson's gaze, cautiously revealed half of her face, a head of short blonde hair scattered, and her eyes darted away.

Realizing that her attempts to hide had failed, she then generously revealed a playful smile, sticking out her tongue and making a face.

A girl.

Anson looked at the figure hidden in the shade, somewhat surprised and amused, "So, did you see any unique scenery up there?"

The girl also giggled at Anson's unconventional answer, "I think the sycamore bathed in golden sunlight is especially beautiful."

Anson was a little surprised, turned his head to look around, and then looked up again with a confused expression, "Are you sure?"

The girl also looked around—

Buildings. Buildings. Nothing but buildings.

This is the heart of Los Angeles, the center of the city. Even climbing to the treetops cannot see other scenery. This is also why Los Angeles celebrities like Beverly Hills: to see far and wide, the city scenery unfolds under their feet; but the height of a tree cannot achieve such an effect at all.

The girl immediately understood Anson's meaning, and a hint of a smile appeared in her eyes.

Anson continued, "Of course, I understand. When you are up there, you can not only see the distant horizon, as if the world extends infinitely; but you can also smell the subtle breath sent by the breeze, sunlight, trees, weeds, the sweet air fills the body."

The words, like a magic wand, made the smile on the girl's face bloom little by little.

The girl raised her voice, "Those words make you sound very old."

Anson: … …

Actually, that's right, because the soul in this skin is already forty years old. Even after transmigrating, returning from forty to eighteen still can't fully adapt to the mentality of a young person. So, is this exposing my age?

Anson looked up, "Then you should be careful not to be tricked by a creepy uncle."

"Giggle." The girl laughed heartily, "Okay, I'll tell you the truth, I'm not interested in climbing trees, I'm just doing it for this little guy."

As soon as the words fell, the girl slightly adjusted her body, revealing a little kitten in her arms, so tiny, and no idea how it climbed up.

"I saw her hanging on a branch and asking for help, so I tried to lend a hand. But now it seems that I seem to be trapped too, hahaha."

Anson glanced at the treetop, and was thinking about how the girl should get down, when a call came from the direction of the parking lot—

Taking back his gaze with a question mark, Anson was about to ask the girl if she needed help, but he saw the girl put her finger to her lips nervously.

"Shh!"

So, the target the young man was looking for was her?

Anson blinked, using the corner of his eye to signal in the direction of the parking lot's sound—

"Scarlett! Jesus Christ!"

The girl nodded repeatedly, her fingers tightly pressed against her lips, her expression and eyes were very nervous, then she shook her head repeatedly, tightly hugging the little kitten, her whole body curled up into a ball.

Then, the young man was already walking towards Anson—

After all, there was no shelter in the parking lot, and Anson was the only pedestrian in sight, like a lone commander, easily exposing his whereabouts.

Nowhere to escape.

"Hey, buddy."

The young man had already asked aloud.

"Have you seen a girl? Height, about to my chest; blonde hair, wearing a green T-shirt, looks a little hurried."

Anson: … …

The corner of his eye could see the girl clinging tightly to the tree trunk like a chameleon, trying to hide her whereabouts with the color of her clothes, but the cherry-red pants easily exposed her—

Speaking of which, who would pair a green top with cherry-red pants, is that strawberry or cherry?

Despite this, Anson's expression did not change, making a look of recalling, "Uh, red pants? Blonde hair and a bunch of small braids braided?"

The young man's expression lit up, "Yes, yes, that's her."

Anson's peripheral vision noticed the platform shoe lying alone on the ground, pitifully sighing, seemingly trying to attract attention.

Ah, that's bad.

Dear readers, the new entertainment author begs for your collection! Don't raise the book, because the current recommendation position is directly linked to the number of daily follow-up readers, so raising too much is easy to raise it to death! Even if you want to raise the book, flip through it every day and flip to the latest chapter, because following up is really important, thank you, thank you!