Today in my eyes.

I put my feet up on the furnace and watched the kids playing in the schoolyard. My lunchbreak looking out on a cool, gray day... the quick drift above Twin Peaks bringing a welcome hood upon Noe Valley. Still working on a ginormous cup of coffee from the early morning and awaiting some state of wakefulness that never comes. I'm taking notes on child behavior and thinking about my own. Studying the dark circles beneath my eyes and the tired smile i've been wearing all morning. I couldn't be happier... and with it some confidence resounding. And the kids don't fuck with me when i'm like this. I give them this look, like Hey, don't waste my fucking time okay? It seems to work really well, and then we can sit down and do our work. This peace as i find my own. There is some art in not trying too hard, wouldn't you say?

Down in the Mission the kids are trying too hard. I see them already cool at seven a.m. talking into cellphones at their chins, like walkie-talkies. They're leaning against the wall waiting for the Laidlaw to take em away. It's seven in the bloody morning, does anybody without a job or meth problem talk at this time? Me? Don't call me at seven and certainly don't put me on speaker phone at the corner of 24th and Capp. I'm not having it.

Further on a homeless mans been run down. Two enormous black women are looking down at his snow-angel form near the corner drain. His Safeway cart is a few feet away; he starts to lift his head. An LA Looks-gelled up Latino cop talks into his shoulder, spitting out codes instead of just saying poor bastard down. He's gonna be fine... his feet are moving. Maybe a concussion and a two-month looming hangover fought off but destined for him and his hospital bed. The smell of fresh conchas from the Mexican bakery and the fried tomatos on the corner, these things don't wait.

And as the hour grows later, little ones emerge in rows like ducklings on the sidewalk. The rabbit reproduction of the American immigrant, shocking... like the giant billboard of Savage Nation overlooking the Castro. Or the ad right next to it~ Want hot sex without crystal? Hell Yes!!! And a bunch of flaming pecs and abs in a row supporting the statement. Reminding me of the recent film 300, just gayer (if that's possible).

I like San Francisco most when i'm on my feet. I walk a lot and my gait follows me through, choosing the less traveled streets of my own memory toward the day's destinations. It feels good to walk by and watch the life living here; these close quarters allowing anonymity or palaver in the same breath.


Fabulous Castro sailor boys compliments of Julia
from the passenger seat at 15mph...