The people sitting behind me live a life of true burdens--the lady of the house is planning her day--mapping out naptime, gym time, all she has is TIME to fill up with her self-riteous self-preservation. They're enjoying a $50 lunch, probably to be followed by a $250 dinner at a swanky "A" list joint downtown. I bet they live in a condo. He's wondering what I'm writing. He's assuming I'm famous. And I am, in my own mind.
It's hot here lately. The heat doesn't shimmer off the blacktop, it crackles. I wish that lazy waiter would bring their check so I'd have the shade of this umbrella all to myself. A group of women behind me all order salads to split. They are discussing the accomplishments of the 3-year olds in their lives. Private baton lessons for one, violin lessons for another--"amazing little people"--learning life lessons. Little people who already need personal assistants to keep their schedules straight. Send them to New Orleans to help with the clean up. That'd be a valuable life lesson.
El Aye. Land of one-upping. Land of the almost-discovered. New couple behind me--an agent and a prospect. I already know he'll be ordered to get new headshots (he's bald now and his photos show a floppy mass of dark hair). He looks vaguely like Bruce Willis but sounds more Al Roker. Less man-of-action, more weatherman. Works out of his home, something to do with repo's. Definitely not glamorous. Don't see his career taking off any time soon, especially with representation who barely speaks English. Her agency is in Koreatown (Alhambra. Must be at least 105 degrees there today). Snap. Crackle. Pop.
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