“Bowng” throbs a vibrato guitar. A black screen flashes to a panning dayscape of Los Angeles’ skyline. Green hills dotted with small white and orange roofs and a couple of skyscrapers can be seen. Acoustic soft rock background music plays. “Last season, on The Hills,” says a woman’s slightly hoarse voice. Shot of a young woman with long, highlighted blonde hair getting out of the driver’s seat of a shiny black C-class Mercedes. The car’s top is down. The woman has on black flip-flops, baggy, cuffed blue jeans, a slouchy black silk top. She slams the Mercedes door. The slamming is audible. The young woman places one hand in the back pocket of her jeans, fiddles with the back of her shirt. She turns around, hair swishing. 
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The Hills Prelude