Last night, I thought I was going to die. Sure, I am one of those people who is always worried, but stuck under an overpass outside the Staples Center, staring at people jumping on a moving a taxi cab, I was sure my life was in danger.

Image via NBA.com/lakers

Rioting for the Lakers sounded like a good idea from my friend’s living room, and after about 20 minutes of talking about it, we decided to just get up and go. A turn on Figueroa put us facing the Staples Center, the place where the [boring] final of the NBA finals took place. A few traffic lights, and we were on our way to what ESPN’s cameras portrayed as the biggest party in Los Angeles. It was hardly anti-climactic once we hit the traffic we had seen on the news-bumper to bumper cars of all makes and models filled with people of all ages, races, shapes and sizes. Lakers T-shirts and jerseys flailed from windows and sunroofs, most sporting the number 8.

Until we saw some crazy drunks almost kill this poor cab driver, the evening was a perfect description of Los Angeles, and not only because it was spent in traffic. The crowd was black, white, and brown, but all you could see were the colors purple and gold. The hundreds of individuals were unified in their defiance of legality and their celebration of the city’s triumph. Surrounded by downtown’s wannabe skyscape, Los Angeles’s true beauty was realized, and for once in my life, I stopped worrying and smiled.