This part of town is post-industrial: all the old warehouses that border the residential strip—a main road sets the boundaries parallel some blocks down—are now offices, and the majority of people bustling about are today's up-and-comers. Flowers line the sidewalks, not far away is a community garden, and real estate is turned around, one house into two flats the going rate, while original residents are turned out...yessir, gentrification and progress.
That is the setting, these are the people: a pair, man and woman, returning from or leaving for their lunch break. They walk a brisk, predetermined beat, the no-nonsense pacing of experienced team members in a firm, of young professionals, of executive hopefuls. So quickly they trot past in their "casual" rolled-up collared shirts that they barely leave enough for me to go on, but enough it is, enough for you to understand so much of them with so little:
"This is the boss." It's a question from him, but he states it.
She shakes her mane unnecessarily, for emphasis. "...Yeah, the bitch-boss didn't respond to the email I sent her..."
Trottrottrot.
Later in the day I'm sitting on BART, and the girls behind me are chattering nonstop about Mike, and how she missed him, and she can't believe that she'd even miss him, but she does. It's incredible how she misses him.
And oh, isn't that great?
And oh, not as great as you think (insert this overexuberant laugh).
But that is totally sweet.
Yeah, totally.
Did I mention a Californian accent, that is just a slightly watered down version of the Valley Girl? Don't forget the Californian accent.
Man, it is great. No wait, it's totally sweet. I can't decide which.
