Tonight, late, tired, post-work haze, walking home from the acursed busstop, I asked myself "What am I even doing here?"
Glanced up and saw this guy, maybe 60-65 yrs old---build and demeanor of a badass 225-pound steamfitter or master industrial plumber---rumbling along, two frisking Scottie Dogs in front of him. Did a doubletake because this man was unlike anyone swaggering down the sidewalk in the Bronx, Boston, Baltimore, Philly, Chicago, or Portland Maine: he was wearing a flowered wool skirt with a bun in his hair. That's how San Francisco is different.
Things like that lighten my heart.
No comments:
Post a Comment