I email Richard and go into work. It feels like renovated hotel: nice and sunny.
There are English workers here — women. They are uneasy with my revolutionary tendencies.
I have a pleasant conversation with the woman next to me. While I’m talking with her, I get a pithy email from a HR woman diagonal across from me. I vault over the cubicle and have a engaging conversation with her — mostly about where I’m from. I’m charming and articulate.
Now I’m on a road-trip with a girlfriend visiting England. We drive past the Ontario, Idaho T intersection and take a left; then it becomes beach properties.
We’re at a Norwegian fishery which has become a mall. People ask a shop selling authentic Norwegian subs where the authentic pizza shop is. I realize the pizza shop is a frachise of the shop in Fairfax I like: Mamma Lucia.
Walking up the wide industrial staircase, I try to use the phone to help me speak Norwegian. The phone tells me I’m doing it wrong.
We pass my a handsome man in his late twenties with his attractive girl friend. He takes a picture of her. It results in a fabulous bullet-time picture of himself.
We go into the tourist attraction of the closed down fishery. I try to take a picture. It comes out dim. My phone tells me I’m doing it wrong and will unnecessarily drain the battery if I continue acting this way. I realize the entire tourist attraction has its lights off.