Hollywood Boulevard

As I drive down my street, my convertible top is down, and my tousled hair whips back and forth in the hot wind. The morning heat makes me feel as if I've opened an oven, when the dry, hot air overwhelms my skin.

I smell freshly cut grass.  I hear no mowers. The landscapers are the hardest and smartest workers I know.

The baby strollers are out. Pushed by motivated mothers, jogging. 

A man overdressed for this heat. Three piece suit impatiently waiting on his beloved dog to do his business.

The old man with his Starbucks cup. Brand recognition driving past him at 30 mph. Culture shift.

Runners. Glistening. Breathing heavy. I'm tired with them. In comparison, my fatigue is petty.