For all its sunshine, rollerbladers, and donut shops, Los Angeles can still be a cold and lonely place. No one knows this more than Freddie, a cholo playboy bunny and longtime Silver Lake resident, who carries sorrow in every step. Through dark shades, Freddie spends his days listlessly browsing flea markets—“a museum of the junk of life,” as he calls them—searching for something, but he doesn’t know what. Then one day, he finds it. Hiding behind a bunch of old lamps and jars full of buttons, he spies his one true love. Trapped inside a mahogany frame, a beautiful naked lady sits atop a panther, her black tresses made of a hundred paintbrush strokes flowing in the breeze. Their eyes lock. His heart leaps. She looks away. He tries striking up a conversation, but to no avail. She doesn’t speak English.

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