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Sticks in the city.
February 11th, 2000

Without Camera
When I left work I stopped at the brewery pub and had a drink (or two) with some friends to wish one of our people good luck going to "___West", as he is joining thirty others from our company who have left for "___West" over the last five years, making, we understand, one shit pot lot of money in the process. I don't think it's more than just a job over at "___West" with a fair amount of pressure and a lot more money, at least in this business market, but it makes you think maybe you're just one of those people who get left behind because you don't have the gumption to get out there and grab some of it for yourself.

You know the signs: no concept of cars as toys, cooking your dinner in a small somewhat under 500 square foot kitchen, not owning many houses and none of the ones you do own built on a beach in a place where it never rains and the scantily dressed locals speak French in soft hushed tones that blend with the sound of the waves lapping against the soft white sands beyond your patio. That house. You know the one.

Been a long time since I've had a couple of beers after work. Shot a picture or two, listened to the stories of company business trips to Vietnam, Bangladesh and Bombay. Didn't want to go to any of those places before today, don't want to go to any of those places after the discussion. We have offices pretty much everywhere there's access to blue water. The fellow telling the Vietnam stories was young enough not to have spent any time worried he might have to go to that war, but he still understood those folks in military uniform who jazzed him in the restaurant to see if he'd flinch, might have had something more serious in mind. Serious place, I guess. I'm too old for anything quite that serious anymore, with or without a camera.

The banner photograph, a tree on a rainy day in downtown Oakland, waiting for Spring.