I’m in LA this morning for, among other things, plane spotting with a bunch of other dorks (the event is called dork fest) at the In-N-Out by the airport. It is a plane spotter Mecca of sorts and happens to have a park adjacent for those who want to spot without buying a burger. I’m early at the site. There are only three others around. One is the guy cleaning up the outdoor seating area at the restaurant. A second is a man who obviously slept in the park last night. The third is over by Sepulveda taking photos of some inbound aircraft.
It is this third man who caught my eye. A bit disheveled but he mostly seems to fit in to the spotter aesthetic with the SLR camera slung around his neck and an eye to catch the morning arrivals. I did’t really think much of it until he wandered past me through the park and over to one of the blankets spread under a tree. He, too, slept in the park last night. And I’m having a lot of trouble reconciling that.
By the time I figured out what was going on he was gone. And others from our motley crew of spotters, dorks and geeks have started to arrive. I’ll make new friends and meet new people today. But his is the story which captured my attention this morning. And it is a story I will never get to hear.
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