Wednesday, January 18, 2023

IT STARTS WITH MICE

The creature was disturbed by the Caucasian woman walking down the alleyway with a camera, possibly publicity shy. Further on a skeevy looking Caucasian dude was pawing through the huge pile of garbage at the corner -- perhaps I already mentioned previously that trash pick-up in Chinatown is insufficient, possibly because our city fathers wish to see the neighborhood only in terms of votes when necessary, as well as a magnet for tourist, not heaven forfend as a residential neighborhood with lots of people living in housing that white folks wouldn't tolerate, and not as bitchy and demanding (effective at getting their voices heard) as all the non-Chinese in this city -- so lately the area has been seemingly overrun with skeevy Lofans being caveman-like. And dammit, more Lofans in Ross Alley.
You'd think it was all colourful and picturesque.
Or something like that.

While smoking my pipe on Grant Avenue, a passerby offered to sell me weed. It struck me at that time that it had been ages since I'd encountered "the most dangerous man in North Beach", a notorious pot-head.
We need the weather to improve so that there are more people about at night and the Lofans are diluted, as well as less bold in their skeeviness.


Burger, fries, wine, soft drink, hot tea, and beer.


Then the karaoke joint. Where the dumbest waiter in Chinatown was trying to soak up some emo-dude on screen. The Hong Kong version of Nickelback, possibly. Every single song he sang was filled with existential angst. You could cut the meaningfulness with a knife.


Someone tried to sell me an attaché case outside, there was a spare changer who went up the street at the Bank of America.
There were no rats running around at the bus stop on the way home. Last week there had been four. I miss them.



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