Well, here I am at the Oakland office, awaiting the furniture delivery men. I am beginning to suspect that someone tipped them off to the narrow, though lovely, marble staircase and they’re saving me for last. Or going to every day laborer depot in the city, looking for someone else to do the lugging.
In the meantime, I could be sorting the mail and prospecting for carpet, but I’d rather tell you about the play and the police. Before I do, I will just mention what I can see from the office window.
It’s only the second floor, so even though the windows actually open, there’s no point in jumping out of them. Now, that’s a safety feature! From my perch above Dicker and Dicker of Beverly Hills, I can see boarded up buildings, including the Fox Theater, which is undergoing renovations, and hear the endless peeping of the traffic signals. I may lose what little is left of my mind after another hour or two of that. There is a shopping cart guy across the street, making a fashion statement by wearing nothing but shorts, flip-flops (or possibly no shoes, it’s hard to tell) and three wool hats. He is having an animated conversation with either the cart contents or his imaginary friend. Directly under the window, a couple is having a heated verbal battle, which is threatening to become threatening.
Maybe the furniture guys took one look and fled.
On Saturday, I fled Oakland for the more salubrious shores of San Francisco to take in the west coast d?but of Dennis Lehane’s first play, Coronado. Based on his short story, the best description might be noir – live action film noir, as it were. If you’ve read or seen Mystic River or Gone, Baby, Gone, you’ll know what to expect, as Lehane explores the dark side of the human heart. It was performed in a small theater, and that made it more intense – I felt as if I were part of these people’s damaged, yet fascinating lives.
The drama didn’t end with the play. After I had finally battled my way onto the bridge (you know it’s going to be bad when the onramp is bumper to bumper) and off the freeway, I turned onto the street next to mine. There were two cop cars, one on each side of the road. I stopped for a cop to cross the road, and was relieved to be waved on. I was less relieved to note four cop cars on my street, including a canine unit. That’s a lot of cops for two blocks. I still don’t know what happened, but they were there for more than an hour.