A Regret

It was one of those rare occasions when I was on the subway and not alone (Rarer still are the times when I'm among friends on a bus, but that's of no consequence in this story). There was me and then there were four others who composed two couples. We got on and found ourselves a cluster of contiguous seats, which is no sure achievement in the evening hours on a weekend night (Los Angeles is known for its car culture,  but that is less and less deserved every year).

We were on our way to see a drive-in movie on the rooftop of a downtown parking garage. The concept reminded me of parking garage-hosted golf courses of which I've heard existing in space-deprived Japan. LA doesn't lack the space, but there are no proper drive-ins to speak of anyway. The idea of this place we were headed for was novel enough that I couldn't pass it up, and I've been to a movie in a cemetery out here.

This awfully cute girl not of our party was somewhat near, and she dared to guess that we were bound for a Beck concert at the Hollywood Bowl. I don't know what we looked like to her, so perhaps as far as that went it was a plausible guess. I will say for sure that the subway is not how I would go to reach that venue. In truth there is no really good way outside of driving there or going for a shuttle back the way we were coming from.

I wish sincerely that I had attempted to enlist her in our plans. As the sole single man among us, only I could have done it. It was not exactly a Nixon in China thing, but it amuses me to think of it in those terms. In any case, this will be one of those things that I look back on helplessly for some time. I certainly will not be able to easily part with the memory until a woman emerges to push this one out of my mind. I do hope it's soon.