Early morning in a crowded office-building elevator. The doors are about to close on the lobby level when a young man in an expensive suit skips up and squeezes in. He recognizes a friend in the back of the elevator car: a guy in a his early 20s, dressed in medical scrubs, with heavily gelled, spiky black hair with frosted tips. The man in the suit looks him over. Suit guy: "You changed your hair."Scrubs guy: "Yeah, I decided to try out the gay homo look."Suit guy: "You mean all the gel?"Scrubs guy: "Yeah, the gel... the whole thing. It's just the gay homo look."Suit guy: "Looks good."Scrubs guy: "Well, I don't know if it looks good, but I know I haven't had this much physical affection from women in years. Seriously. It's just been CRAZY."Suit guy: "Ha."Doors open on the 6th floor, guy in suit leaves.
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At the intersection of Fountain and Vine, in the middle of the rush hour commute through Hollywood, a twenty-something woman in a man's suit is banging on the hood of her broken down Toyota Tercel, which has the words "I sell laptops, $300" painted on the driver-side door. The car blocks a very busy turning intersection, and about 3 out of 4 drivers who are able to weave around the woman manage some combination of honk and obscene gesture as they pass. Each time, the woman cups her hands and shouts the same mantra at each speeding-away car: "I know, I know, I shoulda bought the Lexus... whatever!," followed by an elaborate and horrifying forced cackle.
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On the courtesy shuttle bringing passengers from the long-term parking lot to Orange County's John Wayne Airport, a middle-aged couple are going over the details of their Thanksgiving travel. The radio plays "Imagine," and the woman turns to her husband, who is absent-mindedly humming along. "Is this Lennon or McCartney?," the woman asks."Neither," he answers.Suddenly, the woman dramatically clutches at her chest."Oh, God. I forgot my lucky flying medallion!," she shouts.
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Back in the (latex safe) Kaiser Permanente Urgent Care Center, a middle-aged African American man answers his cell phone. His long grey t-shirt features the Warner Brothers logo - a cartoonish gold shield emblazoned with "WB" - in the center, with text wrapped around the graphic, reading: "If You See The Po-lice Coming, WARN-A-BROTHER!" He screams into the cell phone: "Hello? (Pause). No, it turns out it was a zit. No, no, a ZIT. Like a pimple."
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In Waiting Room B of the Kaiser Permanente Urgent Care Center, a small, seemingly teenaged nurse appears every couple minutes from behind a frosted door that leads to the important part of the hospital. Inititally, she calls out names of patients who are ready to be seen, then guides them back into another (more exclusive?) waiting room. A few minutes later, she comes out to tape a series of xeroxed Halloween fliers around the room that awkwardly compare donating blood to vampire attacks. After a lengtheir pause, she appears again with her clipboard and calls out "Abraham Lincoln" to the unresponsive room. "Abraham Lincoln," she asks again. The only response comes from a 10-year-old Asian boy who has been beating a pair of drumsticks against the chair next to his. "Abraham Lincoln," the nurse states plainly. The boy snickers, and his mother slaps his arm, tsking him, without ever looking up from the issue of "Jet" magazine that she has been reading intently. The nurse gives up and retreats behind the frosted door.
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In the parking lot of Stoney's Pawn Shop, across from the Golden Nugget Hotel & Casino on Fremont Street in downtown Las Vegas, at 10:45am, a woman in a tie-dyed t-shirt/dress is sobbing, sitting cross-legged on the roof of a black Ford Grenada. Glen Frey's "The Heat is On" blares over an outdoor sound system, so loud it's distorted. A passing pedestrian, carrying a neon green cocktail in a skinny, three-foot-long plastic cup that hangs past his knees, calls out to the woman: "You okay, sweetheart?" She shouts back to him, over the ripping guitar solo, "my slut sister stole my fuckin' car keys!"
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Outside of the New Beverly Cinema revival-house movie theater, just West of La Brea on Beverly in Los Angeles, a middle-aged Hasidic Jewish man in an enormous coat and a streimel hat is staring, for several minutes, at a poster advertising an upcoming engagement of the film "Nine Songs," the poster for which contains the tagline "the most sexually extreme mainstream rock movie ever!"The man contemplates the poster in silence until another Hasidim walks up and breaks the first man's concentration. The second man looks at the poster for a moment and then speaks to his friend. "Did you hurt your knee?," he asks. The first man shakes his head "no," and the duo walk off down the street in silence.
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