Apologies from the children’s table near the practice green.
We were a little loud the other night. I’ve been having dinner with these knuckleheads for 20 years now, and we’re always the loudest table. So, from the bottom of our martini glasses, our sincerest apologies. Or, at least from my martini glass. Can’t speak for those other loudmouths.
We were at a patio table, on the edge of a golf course, on one of those soft spring nights that L.A. replicates — one after the other — like counterfeit bills. That’s right, we were outside, and we were still too loud.
Belly laughs bounced around the canyons, and ping-ponged off the foreheads of fretful accountants. By the time...