There were goobers with skateboards doing risky things on Grant Avenue at night. Non-Chinese goobers. I have no idea what Chinese or Chinese American goobers in Chinatown do late at night. One thing they don't do is sing bad pop culture songs from the Seventies in English at a karaoke bar. Which, when we passed by on our way to the burger joint was almost empty. When an hour later we stepped through the door it was nearly full.
And sounded very much like the outer darkness.
Or one of the circles of hell.
I think I would have much prefered Chinese goobers.
Any Lau's crazy shiznit would have been a blessing.
It is doubtful that the Caucasians in the joint were celebrating the arraignment of the orange-faced puke. For one thing, I doubt that many of them had even heard of him or could spell his name. For another, they or their relatives probably voted for that man; most inbreds did.
And it should be noted that he had more indictments than any other president.
Staggering. His most impressive accomplishment.
They are the best indicments.
It is baffling to me that there were so many people about in Chinatown and North Beach. The weather is not good enough for that, and there were to my knowledge no sportive events of note. Warmer than the previous two weeks, but still not a cause for joy. Last week it was coming down and gusting, so I bailed. The week before that my neighborhood looked like a disaster zone hit by a tornado and the bus line was out of commission; downed overhead bus lines, trees lying across the road, smashed vehicles, bus shelter totally destroyed.
And I had no idea how to cross the hill that night, so I bailed.
This was the first time in three weeks that we did our regular pub crawl. The bookseller is a restrained drinker, and I do not consume any booze at all because of my medication. There is no dancing on tables wearing lamp shades, the aliens and robots are not engaged in combat with each other, all the ladies do not take off their clothes. No scenes of wild abandonment. Nor overly greasy pizza at three o'clock in the morning. It's all very civilized.
For me it starts with a pipe smoked in the peace and quiet of Chinatown, for him it's catching a bus after closing the store. At which time his thoughts turn to burgers.
The weekend starts this way.
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