February 21st, 2007

(no subject)

Outside the Espirit in the Time Warner Center last night, a man walked by and looked me up and down, then stopped around the corner and began to look at pictures on his large digital camera. I was leaning against a pole, looking a little angry and staring into the store as Lydia was trying on clothes. He did not look like he was there to do any shopping, and I began to wonder who he was and why he noticed me. He was Italian, with a pony tail, black leather jacket, black jeans, mirrored aviator sunglasses on his forehead, a large camera, and a secret service style earpiece which I hadn't seen at first. After turning off his camera, he came back my way with his sunglasses on, then stopped in front of me and took his glasses off.

"Are you paparazzi?" he asked.


"You look like paparazzi."

"I do?"

"Yeah, with the bag." I was carrying my usual Mountain Smith side bag.

"Oh, I'm not."

"Ah, I thought you saw someone in there. I just saw Goldie Hawn."

"Oh yeah? Here?"

"Yeah, she bumped me on her way out to let me know she knew what I was doing. Want to see?"

"Nice camera," I said while he looked for his pictures of Goldie Hawn.

"I'm a photographer. My dad is a photographer. I don't want to be doing this paparazzi stuff, but I have to pay the bills. I know how people feel about us," he stops to show me the picture of Goldie Hawn. "This is great, she looks drugged out in this one."


"So you haven't seen anyone else?"

"No, maybe they're in the steak house upstairs?"