Raining in Hermosa. I put on my rainproof pants, shoes, and rain-resistant jacket. Almost got my rubber ducky jacket but figured it would be too hot.
About halfway it starts really coming down. And by that, I mean non-drizzle. After 30 mins my jacket starts getting a tiny bit wet inside. Shoulda worn the ducky.
The people out in these conditions are dog walkers, athletes, and weirdos. A guy jogged past me. I’m 6’4″. He must have been like 6’8″. He’s jogging on concrete in the rain with perfect form. I saw him and I thought: “holy shit, that dude is gigantic.” Athletes like that look like normal people–except scaled up. Like you took a totally regular person and just grabbed the corner of the image and went…zoop, +25%. If you see a picture of me, you can tell I’m tall. But you can’t tell those pro athletes are unusual until you put them next to a doorway…or an elephant. They’re just nuts.
I went in to get a “Mexican hot cocoa with double espresso added.” $6. My dog is outside and some people run by and are all concerned. Oh, no. A dog out in the rain. I had to wave to let them know it’s okay. I can see him questioning. My dog’s breed is what they used to haul freight in the original Antarctica expedition. I quite assure you, he doesn’t give a flying fuck about Southern California “rain.” His fur isn’t even soaked. He’s volumetrically the same. That little water can’t penetrate his fur. I mean, I get it, people are trying to be nice. But go away.
Walking back we see another dog. The owner is wearing a hoodie and sweat pants. This is Los Angeles. The guy doesn’t own an umbrella and is wearing, essentially, towels for clothing in the rain. That’s how unequipped people are. I have to go out rain or shine, and I suspect I own an umbrella somewhere in my tiny apartment. But I’ll be damned if I know where it is.
