Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Lots of pretty people there, reading Rolling Stone, reading Vogue.

At Rockn Fish, in Manhattan Beach. We are sitting on the patio; the historian has his back to the door, which means I am in precisely the spot to observe the comings and goings:

Me: You can't see the exceedingly well-groomed people coming in and out of here.

The historian: Really? (continues eating his artichoke.)

Me: Yeah. Like, just now: tall guy, eyebrows clearly professionally groomed, airbrushed tan.
Velvet blazer. Very well-fitted.

The historian: That could be me.

Me: ...yet tragically, it is not.


  1. And I wish I were sitting on the next patio over, also reading Vogue and eavesdropping on your conversation. I would find it v. entertaining.

  2. I hope that one day there is a road trip with me, you and Blue.
    And the ever-dashing Historian.

  3. Oh John, the rogue, the red red rogue.



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