I work with a stuffed animal distributor. I hate that they don’t refer to their warehouse as “The Bearhouse.” It’s such a simple flourish that might engender some anger. But to those whom it really matters, like myself, it’d be kind. It’s a kindness.
I came back into the office from fetching the mail at about 3pm today. If you don’t know, Los Angeles is weird, where we always have this breeze going even if the temperature is in triple digits. Something to do with the beach leading into the desert stretching into a sprawling wasteland, I’m no gustologist (which almost certainly a better term for a food scholar more than a wind scholar.)
Point is that often in mornings, it’s cold. Sometimes in the shade during the summer, there’s a chill. But I strolled into the sun and the breeze was gentle enough that it landed nicely. I did want to curl up on the asphalt; it’d be worth inconveniencing others.
I came back into the office and told my co-worker, “it is so nice in the sun this very moment.” She asked me, “nice in a good way?” I puzzled over this and can only figure she was thinking nice like a Nice Guy and now I cannot stop picturing the sun in a fedora, expecting us to thank it for always hovering, doing us the favor of sweat.