Thursday, March 15, 2018


In this town, even the large chunky women are cold and dessicated. She was built like a linebacker in comparison to my own slight self, but she radiated no heat when she sat down beside me, and the other bus passengers were equally temperature deprived. Except for a young Chinese fellow who smelled of cabbage.

It was freezing on the ride home. March has turned out bitter and arctic.
Hateful weather.

My body feels like ice cubes, and the concept of heat vampiring my fellow man -- well, the opposite fellow gender, that is -- is incredibly attractive. Except that I'd have to leap upon them to suck out their warmth.
And this bitter cold makes me sluggish.

Besides, none of them look good enough to eat.
Even bright young things look like zombies.
Green and pasty in the bus lighting.


Late lunch at a chachanteng. Roast goose over rice. Delicious. Added hot sauce to nearly every bite. Many restaurants in Chinatown buy Huy Fong's "sambal oelek" by the bucket now. Years ago it was hard to find sambal anywhere in San Francisco, now it is almost omnipresent.
Life here has improved considerably.
That goose was damned good.

When I got home I had coffee with ginger to warm the bones. And wore a bathrobe over my clothes. After an hour and a half I felt good enough to go harass the bartender at the joint around the corner.
He's thin, all bones, and freezing.
Slow night, cold place.
Vibrating corpse.

I think I speak for all of us when I say we look forward to Spring.
If it's warm enough, we may even be tempted to go naked.
Freeing pockets of stale air from our clothing.
The smells of cabbage.

It's set to rain all day today.
None of you get naked.
It isn't time.

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