09.01.01 it can't be all that pretty

stuff of san francisco's that, when i am elsewhere, will be missed by me:

the fillmore. impressive pedigree and purty chandeliers. i go for the tub of free apples (at the head of the staircase) and the party favors (they commission a poster for every sold out show). plus, paul sang "daydream believer" outside for me when i freaked out during a monkees show and they wouldn't let us back in.

zeitgeist ("warm beer, cold women"). outstanding jukebox, beer garden full of sunflowers and motorcycles, $11 pitchers of guinness before eight. one can even park nearby, sorta.

solar light books. cranky bookstore cat, crankier bookstore owner. when SF weather beat the crap out of me, amanda gave me a sweater. when i bought henry miller's tropic of cancer, she called me a dipshit. when i left to work at the hospital, she was thrilled for the crippled kittens. she got me into the pogues. i kinda worship her.

and that's about the size of it. had i a copy of dave eggers' heartbreaking work handy, i'd post the bit about his wanting to dance with locals in the street and/or run them over with his car. fun fact: he was in the haight when he felt that way, or so he said at kepler's a few months ago.


the haight, i think. no one's ever asked me that before.


that struck an answering "asshole" chord with me. not, um, that you're an asshole.



he lives in marin now. maybe it's nicer there.

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