Airport hell.

Not really.

Just the two words go together so well like apple and pie but from the dark side of the lexicon.

We are strapped in and ready for take-off (in 15f; not flying the plane ourselves although we would Love to.)

Ready with a selection of Books (yes, Paper kind. Not averse to ebooks but they remind us too Much of Subway commuting).

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Well-fed by the people at the rosy hued hotel.

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We *think* that the chap next to us at brunch at the Beverly Hills Hotel was famous. But telly famous not movie star because we didn’t recognize him. But it seemed all the ladies of a certain age with blonde hair did. Mostly from the way they fully engaged with his small son (8 year’s old? Clearly educated Abroad. Mother Swedish? Or something nordic with good cheekbones and refreshingly direct line of Questioning.

The (probably famous) chap amused his son by reading bits out of the sports pages about NBA player’s tattoos.

Fascinating.

Our book choices were made at book soup.

Of course we had the usual LA dialog(ue):

Oh! Weetsie Bat!

Do you like Francesca’s books?

(see how we only use first names as if we belong to the same writers’ group in Venice (California).

Oh my god! Yes. We only just moved here and it is exactly like her books.

Ah. Where did you move from?

Michigan.

And you’ve come here to be……?

An actress.

Ah. Right.

Movies?

Probably television.

Do you have an agent?

(at this juncture we get The Look. Is she an agent? Right age, sense of self-command, brunette, wearing black, expensive leather jacket).

Not yet……

Well. Best of luck. Great things happen here.

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3 thoughts on “Airport hell.

  1. 1904 says:

    Ah darling, travel anywhere these days is a bit of a challenge, but I am glad to see Gloria knows how to do it right.
    Off to Palm Springs, also often associated with Hell. Mostly because of the heat. Or the fact that all your friends are there. Loving you to pieces, with the very best wishes for the new year,
    1904

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