Oh god, did I say, "Do lunch?" This is what happens when you work on the Westside too long. You stop, like, totally talking like someone real and start talking like one of Them. (To get the intonation right, you have to read the sentence above as if it were a question.) And by Them, I mean industry folk. If you have no idea what industry I'm talking about, count yourself lucky. The Westside is infested with them.
Clark Kent isn't his real name, but when you meet people online, you get used to their handles. So I call him Clark. It's pure coincidence that another friend is the alter ego of yet another superhero. Last time we were all out for a bite in Hollywood (Not North Hollywood, not West Hollywood, just plain old Hollywood - which really means Los Feliz. Got it?) I complained to Clark and Peter Parker that I was the only one at the table without superpowers. (Super powers in this case being catching the eye of every WeHo 'mo slumming outside his 'hood. So it wasn't as if I really cared. I just liked complaining.)
Anyway, Clark, as you suspected, really lives in
This is why I don't do lunch on the Westside. This is why I flee it as soon as the sun sets. Okay- it's not the only reason, but it'll do. I think I'll be brown bagging my lunch for a month to make up for that one.
On the other hand - the company was worth it. Clark really is a super man. (I feel like pimping him - cute, single, successful, fit... single)