molly peterson

“It could have been anyone.” That’s what a guy named Sonny said, when I was standing outside Pal’s this afternoon. I had walked down there with Miz Vera — my block’s mayor — who was toting her own Miller Lite. Nia Robertson’s friends and family were there, peering in the mail slot of Pal’s, checking to see if there was a security camera. (There was.) Maybe 10 bouquets leaned gently against the worn out doors, which were padlocked. A sign

When I got back to town, I could have sworn my neighborhood bar looked a little different. What is safe? The shutters were new, I thought, not just the paint. I remembered at Christmas, seeing the lights around the window, seeing the bar stools up on the bar. A security thing? But I couldn’t find anyone to confirm that at first. My friend Heather Booth finally did. Tonight I had a hand on the door to Pal’s and then realized

A few weeks back I told someone that working in LA and thinking about New Orleans was like splitting my brain into two halves of a grapefruit and trying to eat them simultaneously. Well, even though it’s a ludicrous metaphor, I’m still proud that the LA half of my grapefruit did some good work lately. This week KPCC aired a three part series on aquatic invasive species I did. Stories here, here, and here. At an Academy of Sciences meeting