Out

(Inspired by Gail Scott's wonderful book My Paris)

Keys. Wallet. Door. Stairs. Out. Muni hisses past. Laundry-air from Wash 'n' Go across street. Eyes behind glass door of real estate office have me wondering if they wondering about me. Watching me coming out everyday. Various times in various attire. Afternoon sun. Lining fog on hill with orange. Donut shop in Victorian across street. Even in SF cops hang out. Up 24th. Wind blasting down canyon. Stores I never go in. Selling trendy wooden crap from Bali or Peru. First cafe (great coffee) populated by old armchair intellectuals. Bothering me because maybe I’m one too. Second cafe mixed. Coffee so-so. Ten months here. Still never been to third. Starbucks. Pat myself for that.

Looking for famous bay area diversity. Seeing Hispanic’s behind cafe counters. Street white. Save homeless blacks selling Street Sheet. To bar. Veritable WASP’s nest. Understanding now why friend said “Snowy Valley” when told I moving here. Thinking I should move as sick of myself. Maybe that’s why bored lately. Order Stoli-soda with a lime. Big screen satellite streaming Raiders vs. Detroit. Cute bartender, but too friendly. Too many smiles losing their value, or maybe I just not happy as most? Why wonder? Never can know. Still, it is a nice smile and pretty eyes. Makes good drink too.

Smoking in 3 walled solution to California smoking ban. Miniature porch open on outside. Glass walls so you can see game. Detroit up by 7 in 3rd. Thoughts drifting in easy vertigo. Shiny faces in strollers leading well-kept wives. Wondering how boring that life would be. And not because jealous. Just don’t understand. Pedestrians owning street like Berkeley. Frustrated drivers forgetting when they Moe and Joe. Impatient behind glass. Across street French restaurant. Still haven’t tried. Not digging vibe of bar. Or maybe reverse? Down drink. Check score. Raiders lost. Again. Door. Crossing street. Trying not to piss off cruising BMW’s.

ATM. Card. Code. Cash. Walking up street to buy Muni pass and lottery ticket at funky smoke-liquor shop. Fog cascading down house-lit Twin Peaks. Softens hard city angles. Like women. San Francisco more beautiful with veil. Pushing against 24th St. wind. Stepping into sweet smoke and old wood. Reading headlines –not because interested. Liking ambiance and wanting to stay longer. Peruse variety of single-malts. Costing as Muni pass. Forty-Five bucks gets month in steel coffin with dead faces. Wondering which one more enjoyable. Buying pass. Cash only. Stepping back into wind tunnel. Down street to drug store. Nice black lady always there. Behind counter. Gone today. Buying triple antibiotic ointment and gauze. Price for surfing ten bucks plus 200 per stich. Wound cramping style. But not too painful. Healing fast. And fun writing about it. Probably post it on blog. Walking home. Doorway eyes still behind glass. Wondering about wondering. Stairs. Remembering geometric puzzle of moving couch up. Glad invited T. An engineer. Special inversion saved day.

Key. Door. Honey-pie C. Kiss.