Tonight a hooker ends up walking side-by-side with me and Louie on our way home.

“I like dogs. As long as they don’t bite”

“He won’t bite. He’d run away first,” I say. (I didn’t raise a dumb dog)

“I had a half-wolf once. Half huskie, half wolf. He had silver eyes,” she says.

“Did he howl?”

“Sometimes at a full moon. Of if he heard sirens. He thought they were singing.”

Suddenly she breaks rank with us, and steps into the path of a tall, middle-aged Asian man who’s looking very nervous. She wraps her arms around him. His arms hang at his side. She kisses him on the cheek and says “Merry Christmas”. He stands there, absolutely bewildered.

“Yeah,” she says, like an affirmation, then crosses the street, leaving him standing there as Louie and I continue.

For the second time this week there’s a cop car outside a building on my block, and again one of the cops has fastened one ring of his (her?) handcuffs to the front gate, preventing it from latching behind him. I figure it’s to give his back-up an easier entrance into the building.

In contrast to yesterday, today was all about LEAVE ME ALONE at work. And nobody seemed to pick up on it. I really need a vacation. But I’m digging reading everyone else’s blogs on company time, especially with the T1 connection. (Yes, I admit it, I use a 56k modem at home. I’m poor. Or at least, poor enough)

One of my three roommates is settling into the living room next to my room. There’s a set of pocket doors that separate the two rooms, which means little privacy (I’ve had sex here, like, maybe twice) and I’m not an extrovert. Which means a slight er, moderate resentment towards my housemates, which isn’t fair, because one of them pitied me enough after my break-up to give me and Louie a place to live. But………but…..but I’m not cut out to live with others, unless the other is Significant. Sorry, the whining will stop here.


Places I pass in the five blocks between work and home: A printing company, a lot under renovation, a building that houses a consulting firm and a children’s book publisher, a warehouse of messenger bags, a warehouse of Levi’s t-shirts, a parking lot full of PG&E repair trucks, a leather wholesale supplier, a dot.com, a motorcycle repair shop, a funeral home, a wood door and sash company, a dance studio/school, a gas station, a defunct dot.com, a corner store that lets me bring Louie in when I get my morning coffee, a fencing studio, a retirement home, several auto repair shops, and several apartment buildings or flats, depending on where you’re from. It’s not the quietest, or the best part of town. In fact, given the choice I’d probably rather live in several other neighborhoods, preferably one with a good park for Louie. But it’s a quick commute, I get to read billboards in Spanish, and the hookers are nice to my dog.

I thought about Louie on the way home, which isn’t hard to do, since I’m tethered to him at the time. And I choose that word carefully. If one is less tethered, are you more or less happy? It’s a definite balance. Louie’s certainly worth it. Aside from him, what’s got me tethered? Family, friends, AA, this new Campfire. Sex, even if I’m not getting any now. Infatuations. A curiosity about other people and about how my own life will unfold.

Okay, I have to take any chance I can get at adding kindling to the Campfire. My first review, even if it is from a friend. He writes (and I can quote him because I know he likes the exposure as much as I do):

“I LOVE the journal and I’m so glad you’re keeping it! I was actually wondering if I should “encourage” (read: browbeat) you to start one. I really do love the directness and rhythmic quality to your writing. And you are so cyber-slick — linking to everything like you do — very smooth. I also love the feel of the city and the times that I’m already picking up. You’re a natural observer. Well, it’s obvious you’re a writer, period, even if you’re feeling out of shape…Can’t wait to see where this goes. I’ll be watching… 

Thank you, Devon. I can’t claim credit for being slick when it comes to linking. Better blogs than mine showed me the way. But for what it’s worth, I love that you are hookin’ and lovin’ it. And that we ran into each other again. As I seem to recall, I met you while I was looking for the literary Huckleberry to my Tom Sawyer. Or something. Do you think Huck, growing up in today’s world, would venture out to SF and become an escort? It doesn’t seem that far-fetched to me.