My husband and I were walking through downtown LA, strolling among the homeless and the hipsters, looking for a mezcal bar he wanted to try.
A film crew was setting up on the street. A youngish man wearing security badges and carrying a big cup of coffee stepped out to the sidewalk and grinned at us.
“Holding hands!” he said.
“Absolutely,” my husband responded, like he had these conversations all the time.
“After all these years,” said the youngish man, who had never seen us before in his life. “Holding hands.”
I felt like saying, “Actually, we met on Tinder an hour ago,” but I didn’t.
We kept walking. The youngish man went back to the film set. I saw him corner one of the crew people and point at us.
“Holding hands!” he said. “After all these years.”
Up ahead, we saw a bouncer rousting a couple of homeless people out of the doorway of the mezcal bar. He glanced at us, nodded, and jerked his thumb towards the door. “You guys are okay,” he said.
I was relieved. I needed a drink.
(A-Z Challenge Day Eight: the letter H.)