swing of things

Yesterday was the end of the first week at the new job. Leaving City Hall on my first Friday and making my way through the maze of hallways and back entrances - I quickly made my way to the Civic Center Metro stop, intent on meeting Alex and Sylvia at Fat Fish in K-Town, and tired from walking in overpriced outlet Ferragamos. Crossing Main Street, I quickly realized that I wasn't exactly sure where the metro stop was. "Perdon," I asked this woman, who I sized up to be a transit user, from the hanging wallet on a strap that was hanging from her neck, and mini lunch cooler in tow. She turned around and looked at me. "Where is the nearest metro station?" I said, quickly shifting my language to English, not wanting to assume/offend her for thinking that she didn't speak English. "Second and Grand," she casually spoke with a soft accent of a Spanish speaker who had been speaking English for the past 30 years. I thanked her with a slight up and down nod, not too different from a bow that I would give my exgirlfriends Korean parents, and strided towards my new destination. I exited Vermont and Wilshire, experiencing the TOD recently built within the past year as a way to increase density and ridership along tranit routes. Unfortunatley, a quick glance left much to be desired. Perhaps not enough seating area - maybe a water fountain would have worked - maybe not enough cafes. I noticed two miserable benches that were fixed - unable to provide choice and flexibility in where people gathered. Oh well, I thought. Fat Fish Sushi was my priority. Again, I asked for directions. This time, in Spanish, and definitely because this woman looked more Latina, indigenous even. "Quieres ir al West," she told me. She was right I was looking for West Sixth Street. I took off, passing the bacon wrapped hot dog vendor, zipping down Wilshire, right on New Hampshire and left on Sixth Street. Alex had said that it was right next to Pink Berry. Of course. I passed Berendo and then this great Old Fashioned Hamburger Sign and storefront. Closed. It was one of those places that you could imagine foodies writing about on food blogs. Shit, I wanted to discover this place and tell all my friends about it. Out foodie those of my friends not that into hunting for new places, like I tend to do. Oh well. Fat Fish. Sylvia and Alex were seated at the bar staring at the tiny plates of sushi on the conveyor belt, and trying to hold off their appetites. Sylvia couldn't. As I walked up she was biting into a spicy tuna avocado dish. Perfect. 2 hours later, 40 tiny sushi plates, and 3 empty tea cups of beer, we took off back to echo park, to lay like the fat fish that we now were on the couch and not so casually be amazed by Cesar Millan as he trained humans and counciled dogs.