It's 8:15 on a Monday morning and I'm in the express line at the supermarket at the intersection of Pacific Coast Highway and Sunset Boulevard, picking up some quick lunch things for the office.
The man in front of me has a knit cap pulled down over his greying hair. His casual clothes, his full beard and a tan mark him as one of the early morning surfers I see in the water during my morning commute - or at least I assume that. He's got a package of blueberries and a tall plastic water bottle in front of him on the moving belt. He's holding his cell phone up to his ear and talking, loud.
"Well, babe, see the thing is you want to live in West Hollywood, but I don't...No, babe, it's just that you're into one thing and I'm not. You're not into what I'm into, so that's the way it goes.....well, I don't want to live in Florida, either...."
The cashier scans his items, and he swipes his card and inputs his numbers into the pad while he keeps talking. He never looks at her, not once.
"I'm not going to live my life doing something I'm not into....Well, if it's like that, you should just go ahead and file the divorce proceedings. No, I don't want to go into counseling - we did that last year and look what good it did....well, babe, I don't know what to tell you."
He grabs the handles of the plastic bag, and walks out of the store, still talking. "You do what you need to do...."
The cashier glances at his back, shrugs and then says hello to me and scans my groceries.
It's a peculiar thing. Someone just aired his intimate domestic quarrel with a half a dozen fellow human beings, all the while failing to acknowledge the existence of the person right in front of him.
"Thanks for sharing, huh?" I murmur to the cashier, and she smiles. "Thank you," she says. "Have a good day."
"You too," I say.
When I get out in the parking lot, I see him drive off in a Lexus SUV, phone still held to his ear, still talking.