Los Angeles, CA—The city of angels is burning. This morning, I ventured out on Ventura Boulevard to pick up groceries, but the mundane task felt like a walk through an apocalyptic nightmare. To the east, a monstrous plume of black smoke rose above Burbank, darkening the sky like a sinister omen. Beyond it, Pasadena and Altadena are engulfed in an inferno—thousands of acres consumed in a relentless march toward destruction. The flames lick the edges of sanity, driving entire neighborhoods into chaos. To the west, the Pacific Palisades blaze rages across 16,000 acres, swallowing everything in its path. Over 1,000 structures have been reduced to ash, their skeletons standing as grim monuments to the devastation. Tens of thousands of people are left in darkness, their power cut, their water unsafe to drink—if they have water at all. The air is thick with smoke, unbreathable and suffocating. As I watched the coverage unfold, I was gutted to see the flames claim a piece of my own history....