We carefully stepped over the sleeping drunk who looked like he would go into convulsions and sleep barf on our way to the bar named after a volcano. With all the sailors about, he might have just changed into civies to get riotous, and if he did actually sleep it off he'd be the better for it. An older and wiser man.
Our perch at the volcano bar provided us with an excellent view of the intersection AND the alley way.
Both of which are seedy.
Later, at the Chinese karaoke joint, we concluded that Johnny's little friend should not sing -- 非常臭聲，他的唱！ -- because he tries to inject "soul" into glib superficial and rather ridiculous Canto-Pop. As well as engage the drunken uncle who resembles 'Portnoy' from Bloom County.
But we did not communicate that.
He's an innocent goober.
And rather simple.
In the cab on the way home I ended up in a long philosophical discussion with the driver. Which lasted for nearly twenty minutes longer than the ride, and dealt with civilizations, the age of mankind, and truth.
He's from Texas, but a Berkeley alumnus.
These things happen.
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