Continuing on yesterday’s theme, here’s what happened on the way home from the gym today:
As I walked through the Oakland Rose Garden, a film crew was taking their lunch break. In the middle of the grassy area to my left, a solitary table was set up with plates, silverware, and empty wine glasses. Behind it a huge reflector caught the sun, casting a powerful illumination that made me wince. (It’s amazing, I think, that more actors aren’t blind.)
I usually pick out one rose to smell on my way through the garden, and today I spotted a particularly attractive purple specimen. As I leaned over to sniff it, I was hit simultaneously by the lush, suggestive fragrance of the flower and by a flourish of flamenco; looking around, I saw a guy I hadn’t previously noticed sitting on a park bench with his guitar.
In Linda Park a crew of workmen was stripping the branches off the pine trees and feeding them into chippers, looking very much like orcs. They scared me a little bit, so I changed course to head down Oakland Avenue, only to discover that a block away a house was on fire and the street was full of fire trucks.
As I approached Piedmont Avenue, a man in powder blue sweatpants was pushing the most heavily laden shopping cart I’ve ever seen up the hill. This thing looked like a zeppelin on wheels. As I crossed his path he locked eyes with me and nodded as if to say, yup, this is all in your head. And yet as far as I can tell I’ve been awake since nine o’clock this morning. What does it all mean?