Sage Brown Comments

Peter is joining us for lunch in the cafeteria. I met him on a crowded Saturday morning at a coffee shop. He's from the flammable, paper-dry, sagebrush hills of Malibu and grew up overlooking the hazy blue Pacific Ocean. He says Mel Gibson's drunken Nazi rant, when a cop pulled him over for a DUI, put them on the map.

Poor Peter is fashion challenged. He's 25, too tall, and too thin. Reading glasses hang around his neck. His too loose-fitting clothes are all variations of brown, like tawny, penny and wenge. He's wearing a battered tweed coat, brown corduroy slacks and tortilla colored mock turtleneck. He's adorably shabby-fancy. If he fell in the dormant, straw-yellow grass, we probably couldn't find him.
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