I'm in downtown LA, but I almost feel like I'm in Japan. Sushi and ramen. Candy shops. Wooden structures with curved roofs. Paper lanterns. We're not sure which restaurants are good here. We step inside one. Leave. Pass another and then circle back to it. There, we wait for a table, and after we're seated and served, we feed our toddler with chopsticks. Diners at nearby tables laugh at his wide, ready mouth, and we laugh, too. On the walk back to the car, the night is warm. People talk and laugh. A man sings karaoke in the plaza. It's well past bedtime, but we're on vacation, and so I stop under the paper lanterns, point them out to my son, and in pointing them out to him really see them myself, white and red and filled with glowing light against the starless blue sky.