I am in Los Angeles, driving home after a day of work. I pull into the neighborhood of upscale townhouses. I park Babe and head towards the house on the corner. I could never afford one of these houses, especially on a bookseller's salary. Luckily, the owner of the house likes to use it for young professionals to use. There are about 4 or 5 of us that live there.
Approaching the house, I wave to the owner as he is outside watering the lawns. As I reach for the doorknob, I feel a spray of water on me. I turn to see two large guys in USC jackets laughing, one holding a water hose in his hand. My fists clench and I think about striking one, but it is clear that these two were members of the football team. I think better of it, instead making a snide remark, my specialty and usual defense mechanism. I play like I am better than them and try to appear calm through out, even though I can feel the blood rushing to my face.
The owner comes over and walks in with me, talking me down as we enter the house. I go upstairs to change when I notice that I am still wearing my name tag from work. I feel embarrassed that I almost got into an altercation while wearing my name tag. I then remember taking it off before leaving. I look at it more closely and I realize that it is not my name tag at all. It is Eve's. I pull the lanyard over my head and smile at all the pens she has clipped to it.
Listening to: Beirut - In The Mausoluem