17I was nicely hidden from public view, sharing an intimate ground floor space with only one other person this Saturday afternoon. I’d gotten lucky.
Floor-to-ceiling windows at my back were frosted with privacy film. It ran from the bottom up to a point twelve inches above my head.
Clear glass rose to the high ceiling. I twisted to inspect the view. Caught only a glimpse of a leafy branch.
It belonged to the coast live oak growing from a dirt patch between concrete sections of the city sidewalk beyond the window.
I’d parked my rented metallic gold Toyota beside the tree trunk, pleased that I’d created a visual echo of California’s green-and-gold slogan. Half a dozen oaks filled the block on that side of the broad street. More marched down the center divider.
Outside, the flourishing v
