The other night when I stepped out for a last smoke, a gentleman down at the intersection was losing it. At the top of his lungs. Very angrily. And at great length.
Obviously I did not head toward the noise.
My piles bled for him.
One of the reasons I tend to hide out in Chinatown on my days off is that precisely that kind of behaviour, drug fueled, is rather less likely there. It's a residential neighborhood with ground floor businesses, nowhere near as substance sodden as the rest of the city. Normal people. Substantially normal manners and mores. No pot dispensaries. Yes, near North Beach, which sometimes is zotshead central, but a world away from crazy yuppie crap.
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