It’s 7 p.m. on a Monday in the Mission. The man walking in front of us is drunk, very drunk, and angry. He spins around to engage with us, and Bryan turns me by the elbow toward a display window. We pretend to discuss eyewear trends long enough to confuse the man, and he continues on.

We’re a quarter block behind him when he begins to weave and stumble dangerously. He is crossing the street, tilting forward, forward, until suddenly he is horizontal.

He falls so fast, so hard, there isn’t even time to gasp. I can still hear his teeth smack the asphalt.

My camera, she is broken. Broken since before we left Argentina, in fact. Not fixing it turned out to be stupid, as I lost many photos from this lovely weekend with the girls. Most regrettably, all the naked ones.

Melissa and I went thrifting together in Portland before the rest of our girlfriends hit San Francisco. We stayed at the Ace, which was perfect in every way. In addition to touching the elevator button with my nose, I also licked everything on the premises. It tasted like fixies and vegan donuts.

-You should know, I’m a sleep farter.
-Noooooo!
-Yeah, it’s true.
-I like to scream in my sleep. Scream and scream.
-I’m a sleep stabber.
-…I’m a sleep Republican.

Superfly, originally uploaded by MaggieMason.

Fathers, lock up your sons.