I knew you were watching me, just waiting to give me problems as I set up my tripod on what I believe is a public trail to take some time-lapses of the stunning thunderheads above the San Gabriels from one of the best unobstructed vistas in town. The second I pushed “record,” you drove up, asking accusingly, “What are you taking pictures for?” Duh. When I repeated your question in the first person with a question mark of my own, you suggested I could be casing your oil equipment for the purposes of stealing it, damaging it or whatever. When I asked how on Earth I could possibly damage or steal the few gigantic pipes and shit I saw anchored firmly in the ground or behind barbed wire, you said I might come back later and do it. WTF? Maybe you realized how silly your scenario sounded when I assured you with a smile (which only masked how irked I was) that my only interest there was taking time-lapses of clouds because you finally drove away and left me alone to wonder what it must be like to dwell in your head. Thanks for the suggestions, though.
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to le*****@oc******.com.
