Travelling alone has never been a problem and this time you are at the Hotel Cortez, LA: "Okay, this time's the last"; you said, tired. You wonder if someone else can at least notice how much the Cortez is frozen in the '20 and arouses wonder and, at the same time, a sweet melancholy of the decay of a gone era. But now you can see him: a man who seems to come out of that era. His eyes seem to peer at you from a table in the distance, while you're at the bar: that’s James Patrick March