THE SAN FRANCISCO FOG

The most typically San Franciscan things that people experience when they come here are littering, loonies, and a complete absence of clean comfortable places to take a leak because that's where the drug addicts would shoot up and turn tricks if such venues were available. These are all quite opposite of small town America, where everything is spotlessly clean, there are no loonies or drug addicts, and there's a toilet on every street corner.

If they stay too long, the liberals here will steal their souls, traffic their children for candy bars and spare change, and turn them into godless drug addicts.
Who will be desperate for places to pee.

There are no warm toilets here.
But we've got hippies.
And crabs.

Okay?!?!!?

Oh, and when the weather is right, we've got fog.

When I caught the bus back from Chinatown after tea and a smoke, an angry looking white dude was on the other side of the street shouting stuff about the Chinese, and kind of upset that everyone ignored him. I'm kind of hoping the cops rough him up en route to general for 72 hours in the psych ward, before those Chinese American ex-marines discover him.
No matter how crazy someone is, they're more of a mess when they're pounded.

We need a cultural exchange program with the great American heartland. We'll return their loonies and the opioid-crazed relatives they've chased away, so that they can see what's become of them, in return for their mothers and aunties who can cook rice-a-roni with appropriate neat-o keen recipes. We might even install public toilets for them.

Other than the loud crazy guy, of whom I became aware while on Waverly with my pipe, it was a pleasant quiet period of contemplation. And day dreaming.
A man sometimes needs to let his mind go.



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