Paparazzi talk

So we're waiting at the valet stand in front of Spago for our car, there's a guy standing there, holding a large video camera, standing on the sidwalk. He's got on black jeans, black leather jacket, lime-green doubleknit shirt - silver rings on his fingers and wide flat silver chains in a bracelet on his wrist, another one hanging from his back pocket wallet drooping back up to hook on his belt.

"How you doin?" he asks us.

"Good, how're you?" we say.

A girl, her hair perfectly coiffed in a Kate Gosselin style trots past us on high heels and thrusts an I-phone at the guy.

"You look like you're pretty good with a camera," she says, "can you take us, over there?" she motions toward a group of six pretty blonde people that look just like her, pacing around like young leopards.

"Hey, man, I'm a photojournalist," the guy says, rolling his eyes at us.

"Uh-oh!" says one of the girl's friends. "I saw that eye-roll, don't you think I didn't see that eye-roll!" She turns and gives him an accusing look.

He smiles at her disarmingly. "No, man," he says to the girl. "I'm just taking your picture with these," he says, and points toward his own eyes. Her friends all laugh, knowing he's bullshitting her, but she turns, smiling, and then he rolls his eyes at us again.

"So who's in there tonight?" we ask the guy.

"Oh, man, there's ______(some young actor whose name I can't remember), and I got Warren Beatty and Annette Bening just coming out," he says. "I got Henry Kissinger the other night."

"Henry Kissinger?" I say. "What's he lookin' like these days?"

"Short and wrinkled, man. Short and wrinkled."

Then the valet pulled our car up. "Well, at least he's still going out," we say.

We go to the car - the valet opens my door and I get in. As I pull my seat belt on, I see the young blondies cluster together in formation, beaming, and the paparazzi guy stands in front of them with the girl's I-phone, taking their picture for them.

"You have a good night, man."