“Well, Al, I see you’re still wearing sweats.”
The brothers had somehow managed to score a corner table at Starbucks. Zig leaned forward, one hand clutching his soy latte, his legs crossed at the ankles.
Lounging against the window, one arm slung over the back of his chair, Al fingered the drawstrings of his tan hoodie. “I like it,” he shrugged. “It’s warm.”
“You've been wearing that since the eleventh grade,” Zig pointed out. “You need a new outfit? I can buy you one.” Zig’s own wardrobe consisted of a gray sport coat with burgundy lining, gray vest, and navy scarf, all of which might as well have had the tags still attached.
“It’s not about the money, man.” Al reached across the table and picked up his caramel mocha. “I just like it.”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a loud car horn. Zig glanced through the window behind Al and saw a stretch limo attempting to turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Other drivers protested this maneuver, as did a throng of pedestrians. “How about the exercise program? How’s that going?”
Al sipped his mocha. “It’s going.”
Zig winced. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
“Okay, fine.” Al put his cup on the table and turned his gaze to the spectacle outside. Other vehicles had joined in the honking. “It went.”
Zig: “And of course, you’re still smoking weed.”
Al: “Look, man, did you just ask me to meet with you so you could give me shit about my lifestyle again?”
The massive limo inched forward, its side dangerously close to a taxi’s back end. A frantic arm poked out of the cab, causing the black car to veer away.
Zig: “Damn it, Al, I’m just worried about you.”
Al twisted the cup in front of him. “I’m healthy enough,” he asserted.
“Right.” Zig watched as the taxi reluctantly rolled six inches, allowing the limo to crawl forward another three. “I bet you couldn’t walk ten blocks.”
Al: “Ten? I could walk a hundred.”
Zig snorted. “Sure you could. That’s five miles, you know.” The car ahead of the taxi slid forward, giving the cab more room to maneuver. The limo moved another inch.
Al: “Yes, I could. I don’t know if you could, though, Mister I-Don’t-Eat-Animals.”
“Hey,” Zig protested. “It’s completely possible to get enough protein on a vegan diet.”
A long, sustained honk jerked the limo into movement again, as a delivery truck, double-parked on Sunset, finally shifted forward, allowing more room for the oversized black sedan.
“Fine.” Al drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Sounds like a bet, then.”
Zig snorted. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
Al: “Why? You said you could do a hundred blocks.”
“…to you,” Zig clarified.
Al snorted.
“Tell you what,” Zig continued. “We both know I’ll win here. But if you even finish, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I’m not eating that rabbit food,” Al objected.
Zig: “You finish, and we can go wherever you want. But when I win, you give up the weed…for a month.”
Al: “Okay, but what if I win?”
Zig laughed. “Right. I run two miles a day, and ten on weekends. I can do five miles in my sleep. And half your lungs are probably black by now.” A last chorus of honks sounded outside, and the limo freed itself from the turn, only to stop at the next light. It sprawled over all three lanes across Sunset Boulevard.
Al: “Okay, but if I win, you’re eating three Pink's hot dogs.”
“No danger of that.” Zig smiled and leaned back. “Okay, then, we'll start from the Griffith Park Observatory and end at Pink's. That's exactly five miles.”
“I like it,” agreed Al.
Zig: “So, when?” The light having finally changed, the limo cruised southward down the one-way avenue, and traffic resumed its ordinary chaos.
Al: “No time like the present. Get your gear on and we’ll meet at the Observatory in an hour.”
Exactly one hour later, Zig was waiting at the Observatory for his brother Al. He was sporting a slick silver full-body tracksuit with red stars and matching silver Nikes. He looked up from his Apple watch to see Al wearing exactly the same thing.
Zig: “What the heck, Al, what do you think you're wearing?”
Al: “The same thing you are!”
Zig: “How did you even know what I'd be wearing?”
Al: “Zig, how could I not? You always show up at my place wearing that narcissistic hero get-up. I just wanted a level playing field.” Al laughed heartily. “Why, Zig, is this going to throw you off your game?”
Zig glanced at his Apple watch. “It’s just about noon. You sure you’re up for this?”
Al grinned. “A walk in the park, bro.”
Zig: “Nope. A run on the avenue!” And with that, they were off.
Zig leaped across the street and began sprinting. At Los Feliz, he glanced back to see Al puffing and struggling half a block behind. Grinning, he kept going.
When Zig reached Sunset and Western, the ‘Don’t Walk’ sign was shining steadily. Looking back, he saw his brother two blocks behind him, doubled over, with his hands on his knees.
The light changed to ‘Walk’ and Zig ran across the street. He didn’t look back after that.
Al watched his brother jog across Western Avenue. Straightening up, he strode along the broad sidewalk. Well, Al said to himself, at least it’s a nice day. He looked around, taking in the other pedestrians, canopied entrances, and ever-present construction scaffolding. Al smiled. Bet Zig is moving too fast to enjoy the view.
The light flashed to ‘Walk’, just as Al reached the cross street. “I can do this.”
Zig settled into a steady jog, the same comfortable pace that he used for his daily runs around Will Rogers Park. This far downtown, Sunset was far from crowded, and for long stretches he had the concrete all to himself. As Zig passed apartments, churches, and hulking brick and glass buildings, he slapped one Nike in front of the other.
As was his habit with exercise, Zig shut out the sights around him. After long years of living in the city, his subconscious allowed him to evade the occasional obstacle, dodge pedestrians, avoid dogs on leashes, and sense the timing of street crossings as he approached each intersection. His mind wandered, stilling itself even as his body chugged along. Effectively on autopilot, Zig jogged down North Gower.
Al, jogging slowly, felt refreshed by the shade offered by the Hollywood Freeway. Residences alternated with businesses and shops. He grinned as he strode past the Starbucks where he and Zig had spoken that morning. A woman with two preteen boys had claimed the corner table, ignoring their fighting as she mumbled into a phone.
Al wondered for a moment whether the kids would grow up to be as close, and as different, as he and Zig were. Maybe someday, they too would race each other on Sunset Boulevard.
Something caught Zig’s eye. He wasn’t sure what it was that tipped him off. Maybe something about the windows.
Perhaps something subliminal in the scent in the air. But it diverted him from his intended path to the front of a nearby storefront sign:
Zig stood for a moment on the corner, one hand on a street sign.
Surely, he could just stop in for a quick smoothie. There was no way Al would catch up, even if he made a short pit stop. And even if by some miracle he did, Zig reasoned that he could increase his pace if he had to.
Yes…just one brief stop.
Zig opened the shop door and stepped into his own personal paradise.
Al continued his leisurely pace through midtown, where shops and storefronts catered to the opulent rich. Marking his journey block by block, he paused after Lexington at North El Centro – almost a third of the way there! Al dug two crumpled bills out of the pocket of his silver suit and exchanged them for a bottle of water from one of the many street vendors. On Vine, Al took a moment to admire the architecture of the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power building.
“This…this is really good!” Zig gushed, as he wiped green slime from his upper lip. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, the usual,” said the bartender, a dangerously skinny girl with what seemed like two hundred piercings. “Kale, broccoli, a slice of kiwi, some flax seed, and more kale. Oh, and just a few strawberries. It's all organic and locally sourced, of course.” Her name, according to her tag, was Carylynn.
“Wow!” Zig shook his head. “Why haven’t I been here before?”
“Oh, we just opened last month,” Carylynn said. “Have you seen our gym?”
“I’m kind of in a rush,” said Zig.
“Oh, I just thought…with what you're wearing…you know. Anyway, we have all the latest equipment. Also locally sourced and organic.”
Zig: “Well... I suppose it won’t hurt to take a look.”
Carylynn led him to a set of frosted doors in the back of the shop, which she opened.
Zig’s head spun. Beyond the doors was a fully outfitted gym. Gleaming exercise machines dominated half of the room, while inviting mats lined up along a mirrored wall. Free weights stood like soldiers in formation.
“Holy shit,” Zig breathed.
“I know, right? Wait until you see our yoga studio.”
“I really should get going,” Zig protested.
“Come on,” Carylynn prodded. “Slow down. Enjoy life, you know?”
“Well, I…”
“This way.” They entered another chamber, its only light coming from flickering candles – soy-based, naturally. Soft Himalayan prayer music chimed from speakers high on the walls.
“Go on. Try out one of the mats. They’re cruelty-free, sustainably produced.”
“Okay,” Zig replied. “I can take just a minute.” He knelt on one of the mats, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing.
Al noticed a sign amid all the golden facades on Sunset Boulevard. Huh, he said to himself. ’Healthy Eden.’ I wonder if Zig noticed that? He tends to zone out when he’s running. I’ll have to tell him about it.
Zig opened his eyes with a start, for a moment not recognizing where he was. He glanced at his wrist. “Shit,” he spat, earning him rude looks from people who hadn’t been there when he’d come in. “Sorry,” he whispered, leaping to his feet. He quickly retraced his steps through the gym, racing past Carylynn at the juice bar, through the door, and resuming his run down Sunset. Panicking, he picked up his pace.
Al approached a brick wall containing a giant mural of Duke Ellington at his piano. The last mile had been the hardest, though he had enjoyed seeing the wide variety of people in the community as he passed them.
Sighing, Al sat down on the bus bench in front of Pink's Hot Dogs on La Brea Avenue and looked around, stretching his legs one at a time. Okay, Zig, he muttered to himself. Where are you? I know you're already here. On his phone, Al thumbed through his contacts until he found Zig. Before he had a chance to place the call, he heard the sound of feet slapping the pavement.
Looking up, Al saw his brother, out of breath, rapidly approaching him.
Zig collapsed on the bench.
“What the hell?” Al asked.
Zig panted and held up a hand.
Al put away his phone and waited.
Finally, Zig sat up.
“Wait, you’re just now getting here?” Al stared at his sweat-drenched brother.
Zig: “I…um. I might have gotten distracted.”
Al raised an eyebrow.
Zig: “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Al: “So…I won?”
Zig slapped Al on the knee. “Yes, little brother, you won. Come on, let’s get us some hot dogs.
“Aw,” said Al. “I wouldn’t really make you eat hot dogs.”
Zig: “Hey, a bet’s a bet. I win, you lay off the weed. You win, I choke down mysterious tubular meat things.”
Al: “Yeah, about that. You know I don’t actually smoke weed, right?”
“What?” Zig stared at Al.
Al: “Yep. Just naturally lazy, I guess. Come on, Pink's is waiting.”
Suddenly, they heard the sound of a loud car horn. Zig glanced through the window behind Al and saw a stretch limo attempting to turn onto Sunset Boulevard. Other drivers protested this maneuver, as did a throng of pedestrians. “How about the exercise program? How’s that going?”
Al sipped his mocha. “It’s going.”
Zig winced. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”
“Okay, fine.” Al put his cup on the table and turned his gaze to the spectacle outside. Other vehicles had joined in the honking. “It went.”
Zig: “And of course, you’re still smoking weed.”
Al: “Look, man, did you just ask me to meet with you so you could give me shit about my lifestyle again?”
The massive limo inched forward, its side dangerously close to a taxi’s back end. A frantic arm poked out of the cab, causing the black car to veer away.
Zig: “Damn it, Al, I’m just worried about you.”
Al twisted the cup in front of him. “I’m healthy enough,” he asserted.
“Right.” Zig watched as the taxi reluctantly rolled six inches, allowing the limo to crawl forward another three. “I bet you couldn’t walk ten blocks.”
Al: “Ten? I could walk a hundred.”
Zig snorted. “Sure you could. That’s five miles, you know.” The car ahead of the taxi slid forward, giving the cab more room to maneuver. The limo moved another inch.
Al: “Yes, I could. I don’t know if you could, though, Mister I-Don’t-Eat-Animals.”
“Hey,” Zig protested. “It’s completely possible to get enough protein on a vegan diet.”
A long, sustained honk jerked the limo into movement again, as a delivery truck, double-parked on Sunset, finally shifted forward, allowing more room for the oversized black sedan.
“Fine.” Al drummed his fingers on the back of the chair. “Sounds like a bet, then.”
Zig snorted. “That wouldn’t be fair.”
Al: “Why? You said you could do a hundred blocks.”
“…to you,” Zig clarified.
Al snorted.
“Tell you what,” Zig continued. “We both know I’ll win here. But if you even finish, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“I’m not eating that rabbit food,” Al objected.
Zig: “You finish, and we can go wherever you want. But when I win, you give up the weed…for a month.”
Al: “Okay, but what if I win?”
Zig laughed. “Right. I run two miles a day, and ten on weekends. I can do five miles in my sleep. And half your lungs are probably black by now.” A last chorus of honks sounded outside, and the limo freed itself from the turn, only to stop at the next light. It sprawled over all three lanes across Sunset Boulevard.
Al: “Okay, but if I win, you’re eating three Pink's hot dogs.”
“No danger of that.” Zig smiled and leaned back. “Okay, then, we'll start from the Griffith Park Observatory and end at Pink's. That's exactly five miles.”
“I like it,” agreed Al.
Zig: “So, when?” The light having finally changed, the limo cruised southward down the one-way avenue, and traffic resumed its ordinary chaos.
Al: “No time like the present. Get your gear on and we’ll meet at the Observatory in an hour.”
Exactly one hour later, Zig was waiting at the Observatory for his brother Al. He was sporting a slick silver full-body tracksuit with red stars and matching silver Nikes. He looked up from his Apple watch to see Al wearing exactly the same thing.
Zig: “What the heck, Al, what do you think you're wearing?”
Al: “The same thing you are!”
Zig: “How did you even know what I'd be wearing?”
Al: “Zig, how could I not? You always show up at my place wearing that narcissistic hero get-up. I just wanted a level playing field.” Al laughed heartily. “Why, Zig, is this going to throw you off your game?”
Zig glanced at his Apple watch. “It’s just about noon. You sure you’re up for this?”
Al grinned. “A walk in the park, bro.”
Zig: “Nope. A run on the avenue!” And with that, they were off.
Zig leaped across the street and began sprinting. At Los Feliz, he glanced back to see Al puffing and struggling half a block behind. Grinning, he kept going.
When Zig reached Sunset and Western, the ‘Don’t Walk’ sign was shining steadily. Looking back, he saw his brother two blocks behind him, doubled over, with his hands on his knees.
The light changed to ‘Walk’ and Zig ran across the street. He didn’t look back after that.
Al watched his brother jog across Western Avenue. Straightening up, he strode along the broad sidewalk. Well, Al said to himself, at least it’s a nice day. He looked around, taking in the other pedestrians, canopied entrances, and ever-present construction scaffolding. Al smiled. Bet Zig is moving too fast to enjoy the view.
The light flashed to ‘Walk’, just as Al reached the cross street. “I can do this.”
Zig settled into a steady jog, the same comfortable pace that he used for his daily runs around Will Rogers Park. This far downtown, Sunset was far from crowded, and for long stretches he had the concrete all to himself. As Zig passed apartments, churches, and hulking brick and glass buildings, he slapped one Nike in front of the other.
As was his habit with exercise, Zig shut out the sights around him. After long years of living in the city, his subconscious allowed him to evade the occasional obstacle, dodge pedestrians, avoid dogs on leashes, and sense the timing of street crossings as he approached each intersection. His mind wandered, stilling itself even as his body chugged along. Effectively on autopilot, Zig jogged down North Gower.
Al, jogging slowly, felt refreshed by the shade offered by the Hollywood Freeway. Residences alternated with businesses and shops. He grinned as he strode past the Starbucks where he and Zig had spoken that morning. A woman with two preteen boys had claimed the corner table, ignoring their fighting as she mumbled into a phone.
Al wondered for a moment whether the kids would grow up to be as close, and as different, as he and Zig were. Maybe someday, they too would race each other on Sunset Boulevard.
Something caught Zig’s eye. He wasn’t sure what it was that tipped him off. Maybe something about the windows.
Perhaps something subliminal in the scent in the air. But it diverted him from his intended path to the front of a nearby storefront sign:
HEALTHY EDEN
Vegan Restaurant
Juice Bar
CrossFit Gym
Yoga Studio
Zig stood for a moment on the corner, one hand on a street sign.
Surely, he could just stop in for a quick smoothie. There was no way Al would catch up, even if he made a short pit stop. And even if by some miracle he did, Zig reasoned that he could increase his pace if he had to.
Yes…just one brief stop.
Zig opened the shop door and stepped into his own personal paradise.
Al continued his leisurely pace through midtown, where shops and storefronts catered to the opulent rich. Marking his journey block by block, he paused after Lexington at North El Centro – almost a third of the way there! Al dug two crumpled bills out of the pocket of his silver suit and exchanged them for a bottle of water from one of the many street vendors. On Vine, Al took a moment to admire the architecture of the Los Angeles Department of Water and Power building.
“This…this is really good!” Zig gushed, as he wiped green slime from his upper lip. “What’s in it?”
“Oh, the usual,” said the bartender, a dangerously skinny girl with what seemed like two hundred piercings. “Kale, broccoli, a slice of kiwi, some flax seed, and more kale. Oh, and just a few strawberries. It's all organic and locally sourced, of course.” Her name, according to her tag, was Carylynn.
“Wow!” Zig shook his head. “Why haven’t I been here before?”
“Oh, we just opened last month,” Carylynn said. “Have you seen our gym?”
“I’m kind of in a rush,” said Zig.
“Oh, I just thought…with what you're wearing…you know. Anyway, we have all the latest equipment. Also locally sourced and organic.”
Zig: “Well... I suppose it won’t hurt to take a look.”
Carylynn led him to a set of frosted doors in the back of the shop, which she opened.
Zig’s head spun. Beyond the doors was a fully outfitted gym. Gleaming exercise machines dominated half of the room, while inviting mats lined up along a mirrored wall. Free weights stood like soldiers in formation.
“Holy shit,” Zig breathed.
“I know, right? Wait until you see our yoga studio.”
“I really should get going,” Zig protested.
“Come on,” Carylynn prodded. “Slow down. Enjoy life, you know?”
“Well, I…”
“This way.” They entered another chamber, its only light coming from flickering candles – soy-based, naturally. Soft Himalayan prayer music chimed from speakers high on the walls.
“Go on. Try out one of the mats. They’re cruelty-free, sustainably produced.”
“Okay,” Zig replied. “I can take just a minute.” He knelt on one of the mats, closed his eyes, and concentrated on his breathing.
Al noticed a sign amid all the golden facades on Sunset Boulevard. Huh, he said to himself. ’Healthy Eden.’ I wonder if Zig noticed that? He tends to zone out when he’s running. I’ll have to tell him about it.
Zig opened his eyes with a start, for a moment not recognizing where he was. He glanced at his wrist. “Shit,” he spat, earning him rude looks from people who hadn’t been there when he’d come in. “Sorry,” he whispered, leaping to his feet. He quickly retraced his steps through the gym, racing past Carylynn at the juice bar, through the door, and resuming his run down Sunset. Panicking, he picked up his pace.
Al approached a brick wall containing a giant mural of Duke Ellington at his piano. The last mile had been the hardest, though he had enjoyed seeing the wide variety of people in the community as he passed them.
Sighing, Al sat down on the bus bench in front of Pink's Hot Dogs on La Brea Avenue and looked around, stretching his legs one at a time. Okay, Zig, he muttered to himself. Where are you? I know you're already here. On his phone, Al thumbed through his contacts until he found Zig. Before he had a chance to place the call, he heard the sound of feet slapping the pavement.
Looking up, Al saw his brother, out of breath, rapidly approaching him.
Zig collapsed on the bench.
“What the hell?” Al asked.
Zig panted and held up a hand.
Al put away his phone and waited.
Finally, Zig sat up.
“Wait, you’re just now getting here?” Al stared at his sweat-drenched brother.
Zig: “I…um. I might have gotten distracted.”
Al raised an eyebrow.
Zig: “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Al: “So…I won?”
Zig slapped Al on the knee. “Yes, little brother, you won. Come on, let’s get us some hot dogs.
“Aw,” said Al. “I wouldn’t really make you eat hot dogs.”
Zig: “Hey, a bet’s a bet. I win, you lay off the weed. You win, I choke down mysterious tubular meat things.”
Al: “Yeah, about that. You know I don’t actually smoke weed, right?”
“What?” Zig stared at Al.
Al: “Yep. Just naturally lazy, I guess. Come on, Pink's is waiting.”
