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cracking_mirror in wetheinvincible

LA - Walking Around

You couldn't say he was doing anything other than wandering. He'd pop into the occasional bookshop, and he'd gone through three different Starbucks at various points, but he didn't have any specific aim really. His time in LA up till then had been show after show, which was great since he'd been getting rave reviews for the new show... but all the performing had taken it's toll on his brain and thus: day off.

He's got a pair of shades on, since this is LA, but they're perched on top of his head because it was a little dark for him to see well with them (and he's from NY).

Comments

"'Hello there, cashier, can I have some bread?' 'Bread? What kind of bread?' 'Oh, I don't know. Bread!' And the cashier gives you a death glare as you continue to be unspecific."
He smirks.

"Where I usually go, that's all I have to say. They know me by now."

Eyeroll.

"And I tip well."
"I didn't think people at Panera were allowed to accept tips."
He chuckles.

"It's not a tip if I find it behind their ear," he says, opening the door and gesturing for her to go in.
She walks in, eyes immediately going to the menu. "Oooh, I feel like a Crispani!"

Why yes, this thread is nothing but a plug for Panera. Product placement FTW!
He waves one hand absently.

"Do indulge."

With a smile.
Lindsay hops in line. A few minutes later, a crispani is on its way and Lindsay is looking for a table.
And Nick waves from the table he's found.
Right then.

Lindsay moseys on down there with two drinks in hand.

"I hope this is what you wanted."
He looks at the latte.

"It works. I'm not much for coffee, but I can't resist the foam."

He gives her a grin and nods to the table.

"What'd you get?"
"A chai latte."
He grins.

"A woman after my own heart."

He shakes his head.

"So... cue awkward conversation and/or anything exciting you'd like to share since last we met?"
"I...fell asleep on the couch."

A solemn nod.
"I almost got an arrow through my head," he says absently, sipping at his latte.

"How is that, incidentally?"

He points to the crispawhatever.
"It's good. Like a very thin and tasty slice of pizza."
He peers at it for a moment before sipping on his latte again.

"It's not really pizza unless it's coming out of New York or straight from Italy."

...yes. He's not being fair at all to the cuisine of the rest of the country.
She rolls her eyes.

"It's not as if Chicago has good pizza or anything."
"Nope," he says, "They have Sicilian. It's square."
"What's wrong with Sicilian pizza?"
"Nothing!" he admits airily before shaking his head and sipping his coffee. "Except that I don't like it. But there's nothing wrong with it, certainly."
"There has to be something wrong with it if you don't like it."
He shakes his head.

"Don't like the crust. And I find something intrinsically wrong with eating something that's a square. Don't ask me why. It just bothers me."
"Didn't you know it's hip to be square?"

Bad-dum-ch!
He snorts.

"Didn't you know it's square to be hip?"
"Well, if you eat enough of those Sicilian squares they'll go straight to your hips!"

She'll be here all week, folks.
Los Angeles: The Beach

December 2006

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