one night walking

walking out on to the sidewalk felt like being reborn from a birth canal of moldy coasters and painfully mundane smalltalk.

"yea, bud light lime. you know, bud's making a hef now these days. well, it's a wheat bear anyways." PUSSSHHH!

and there i was, right back outside. in a placenta of cold, refreshing winter bay air. it can get a little old come july, but damn it feels nice. i looked around deciding which direction to hike back up the hill towards home. regardless of circumstances, no one enjoys walking uphill. i didnt really have a choice, so i began trudging up the first block and thinking about how much i hate carrying small talk and how much bud light lime tastes like cheap expired laundry powder detergent.

a younger couple was stumbling down the sidewalk, the guy regretfully holding his unfamiliar date up while staring vacantly up at the trees. "i tend to find humor in thingssss........," she slurred. his expression seemed to read, "i wonder if she'll leave in the morning." if only he could've read mine: "doubt it."

i once overheard part of a conversation on a sidewalk downtown: "... and then they locked me in a cage with a tiger!..." i thought i'd learned to eavesdrop a bit more effectively since then, but there aren't enough people on the sidewalks in this neighborhood to be conspicuous enough to find out exactly what things this obviously profound girl found humor in. i trudged on.

up the top of the hill, past my former dry cleaner. she'd always demanded that i sign for my pick ups even though she recognized me. her untrusting chinese gaze, her rotund little index finger and the way she'd flop it down onto the "name" line like an overcooked weenie that escaped a backyard 4th of july barbecue but still demanded a signature for picking up two work shirts. that's not even why she's a "former" dry cleaner. she seemed to find sadistic pleasure in ironing over collar-stays and apparently operated a dress shirt button black market racket downstairs.

it's incredible how quiet this block can be at 10pm while the bars are packed 100 yards away. the breakfast joint with the always pretentious line of hipsters waiting an hour for a ho-hum meal. the empty park. the feeling of being alone while in the midst of thousands. good time of day to take in the city.

up the last block in a good pace. two overweight italians sauntering by, "and there was piss all over my carpet..." again, the unlearned eavesdropping lesson. around the last corner past the painful garage bands performing tired covers, past the desperate girls with a few unfortunate hours still ahead of them, and past the homeless man urinating 10 feet from the stoop he's slept in for the last 3 months.

i dig my neighborhood