YOU ARE NOT INVISIBLE

As a long time resident of San Francisco I am of course keenly cognizant of the vocalizations that convince the people around you that you are unstable, possibly a psychopath. Quite a connoisseur, in fact. Muttering 'tuck, tuck, tuck' with slight variations and pauses on the bus, for instance, will cause people to gradually draw away. Also, whispering 'yes, ye-e-es, yis' conspiratorily to yourself will make them vacate the seat in front of you where you wanted to sit, and they had selfishly had plonked themselves into several stops before you got on.

Try it yourself. You will love the results.
Don't thank me, I'm a giver.

Yes. Ye-e-es.

These are things I pondered while walking up the street with my pipe, soundlessly to myself, which was good, because I ran into a former neighbor, whom I do not wish to convince of my insanity, because that's something I am extremely comforable with him not knowing anything at all about. Ye-e-es.

Tuck, tuck, tuck.

Nob Hill at six o'clock was foggy, with glowing streetlights more visible because of brightness than the actual shapes of the buildings. A gradation of pastel hues proceeding up hill. Rather nice with so few people about, not even the usual pedestrians pooing their dogs.

Before loading up my pipe and stepping out I had slammed a cup of strong coffee. I have an appointment with the eye-doctor early, and it's easier convincing them that I have eyes if they are glowingly awake rather than baggy and overcast.

They're observing you right now. Peering, ghostlike, around the edges of buildings from dark sockets under overhanging eyebrow ridges. I can see you.



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