I like to set my fiction in real places. That means that the Sepulveda Apartment complex is real. Or should I say, was real. Because it’s gone. On a recent trip to L.A, my husband took this picture of it. On the right is the way it looked before, when my husband and I were grad students, living in the corner apartment on the first floor. I was writing my thesis, thinking I might never finish, and he was in the MBA program at UCLA. When I wrote Bright Coin Moon, I imagined Lindsey and her mother in the apartment above us. That way her mother could complain about the steps (something people actually did), and she could see Paco’s place across the courtyard. Goodbye little Sepulveda Apartment Complex! I guess the the only place you exist now is inside the pages of my book.