His black ponytail hangs off of his head in a flowing mane, pointing to his plain white t-shirt, '90s mom jeans, and black Vans. I still can't remember his name. All the voices in the marketplace surrounding us meld into a cocoon of soft noise.

"Yes, I'm June. It's nice to meet you."

I shake his hand. I think my hand might be stronger.

We sit down at the coffee bar, flooded with beautiful baristas in fashionable eyewear. Without hesitation, ponytail says to the barista steaming milk in front of him, "cappuccino." She nods.

"Did you want something?" He asks me.

"Uh, I'll have the same," I say."

Within what feels like seconds, she hands us off two drinks, and he's sneaking some covered amount of money into her hand. They nod at each other, and now I have a cappuccino, after waiting ten minutes in line and getting nowhere.

Ponytail turns to me and says, "So, I don't have a ton of time, I'm on my lunch break. But what would you like to know about the film industry? Andrew said you were interested in getting into film. What would you like to do, what's your goal?"

Taking a sip from my latte, I try to quiet the acid overflowing in my stomach, checking with my left hand to see that my shirt is still fully buttoned in the back. "Well, I just know I've always been interested in film. I've always been a total movie dork, and I think I might be interested in getting into some kind of film job, but I'm not sure what that is or if that's possible yet." God I sound like an idiot. And I've probably still got dog shit on my shoe.

I'm glad he can't hear this internal monologue. He responds, "Okay. Well, I've done... pretty much everything there is to do in this industry. I've obviously been a PA; the set bitch, if you will. Now I'm shooting commercials, doing more production coordinator work. What I can tell you is that it's a tough industry. I mean, half the year you're working 14-hour days, the other half you're unemployed. I guess if you're a PA in LA, there's almost always work available. But it's tough, it's grueling. And some people just are going to treat you like shit, and you have to be ready for that."

Is anyone ever ready for that?

"Writers can be real dickheads, too," he adds.

I smile.

We talk a little longer; about our backgrounds, experiences we've had.

Then I ask the question that's been nagging me since I landed. "How is it living in LA?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, I mean, I'm from here, so, I'm-"

"You're more defensive of it?" I ask.

"No, I hate it. I'm actually in the process of moving to New York next year. I'm just so over this place, you know? People in clubs are such assholes, and everyone else is nice, but in a very artificial way. And it's so hard to just go out and like, have a drink with friends after work. After such long days at work, the last thing you want to do is get back in your car and drive an hour for one drink. It just seems so much easier to have friends in New York, from my experience."

I nod. Suddenly it feels like I've swallowed a black hole, and everything around me spins.

After a few more minutes of questions about where we grew up and went to school, he says he has to go back to work, and we get up. He gives me a hug good bye.

"Good luck. Let me know if you end up moving down here.

As I watch him walk away, I hear the Verve song come on faintly through the marketplace speakers. This song came on after I lost my virginity, seemingly every time in high school I got into a massive fight with my mom in the car, when I found out I got into my first choice college, and when I moved home. Now, standing in the doorway of this place that might as well be in a foreign country, this repetitive, over-played song is on again, and I'm reminded of all the other times before this that I knew something big just shifted.