Friday, September 11, 2015

BACON AND CURLY FRIES

Conversationally I am not exactly a thrill-meister. No, I cannot blame others for this, it's just a fact. The people who seem most attracted to me in certain environments are usually the elderly, the insane, and the intoxicated. Yes, of course I usually tolerate them.
They also need to speak.


Over the years I've gotten better at sensing who these people are, and eventually avoiding them if I don't feel gregarious. As well as withdrawing from conversations where my input is not really appreciated.
That latter ability is far more important.
I'm not very social anymore.


Among the strange revelations from people who have pinpointed me as a tolerant cooz who won't tell them in uncertain terms to bugger off and leave me be, so far not a single one has been that the speaker is a very normal person who is sane, balanced, and altogether not very exciting.
The world is filled with unique individuals.
Or San Francisco is, at least.
And they know it.


VISUALLY INVOLVED

I wasn't hungry till he had food delivered from a restaurant in the alley. The conversation continued while he and the third person consumed it. They left shortly after eating, and by that time the noise level had sufficiently clobbered me that I felt no need to stay there either.

It's not something which I planned, nor a particular preference, but I usually dine alone. When I'm at a restaurant I will pick the seat that allows me a greater view of everyone else in there, as well as the street outside.
I rather like busy streets, as there is so much to see.
And other people interacting are fascinating.
It's very much like being in a zoo.
Observational ambiguity.


What tells me that I am not the monkey behind bars is that I have a choice about when and what I eat.


When I got home I fixed myself noodles with bacon, bitter melon, and hot sauce.


Sriracha: it's the solitary man's companion.


That just happened.




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