2005jan25. Sunday just off Santa Monica beach. There is a fence partially blocking my view. I’ve just turned away from a large mass of seagulls feeding on discarded lobster – smaller pigeons were staggering at the periphery hoping to snatch some food away. A young man with long, straight black hair, a semi-haggard face, and a black leather jacket approaches me. He motions to the shoreline. In our line of sight is the fence, the shoreline, the seagull mass, the beloved Santa Monica Art Tool, Veterans for Peace crosses, and the distant end of the Santa Monica pier. There is no one in sight.
“What’s this guy doing?”
“What guy?”
“This [motions again] guy.”
“The crosses?”
“No, this guy.” [motions]
”Santa Monica?”
“No ... what crosses?” [squints]
”It’s Veterans For Peace.” [steps away]
“Oh, okay.” [leaves]