At the back of the hill

Warning: May contain traces of soy, wheat, lecithin and tree nuts. That you are here
strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton.
And that you might like cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Tuesday, May 10, 2016


In all honesty, crazy people scare me. I'm afraid that they will recognize me as a strong, nurturing, and supportive individual, and talk to me. Consequently I cultivate a stern Germanic attitude when the obviously unbalanced approach.

It doesn't really work. There are far too many loonies for comfort in Portsmouth Square. Too many for my comfort. And I almost never walk in North Beach during daytime anymore.

Clearly, I am too warm and sociable for my own good.

Fortunately the tourists recognize me as unwholesome and threatening, especially when they are acting stupid and obnoxious.
It is small consolation.

Hello, Italians, Scandies, and visiting Mainlanders barking in Mandarin!
Thank you for coming to San Francisco and spending money!
Now kindly piss off!

Same goes for all the badly dressed goobers from Flyoverstan.
But without the hearty (and sincere) welcome.

All of you, stop taking photos.

If you want directions, please ask the hairy screaming savage there. Yes, the one who just took off his shirt and flung it at the children.

He's a native, and he speaks your language.

You're wearing shorts.


When I came home today, my apartment mate told me that I smelled bad and ate too much. She may have been channeling for someone.
I don't know. But I have no intention of asking her.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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