Me: Yeah, I always thought he was a little off.

F: I think you’re right about that. It started to sink in when he’s telling me about this dress shirt he has, right?

Me: Yeah.

F: And it’s velour. . .

Me: K . . .

F: And he’s telling me about how he tie dyed it.

Me: What the?

F: Yeah, yeah, wait, it gets better.

Me: K. . .

F: It has a picture of The Golden Gate Bridge on the back.

Me: What? What.

F: Yeah. Yeah.

Me: Oh noooh.

F: Yeah, and he’s, like, proud of this, like telling me exactly how he did it.

Me: Aaa! Ack!

F: So I’m like, “No. No. You must stop talking about this.” ‘Cause sometimes they need that, you know? I think sometimes they like that.

Me: Boundaries.

F: Exactly. But he keeps on talking! He’s like, “Well, you know I tie dyed it so it looked . . .” And I’m like (shakes head), “Uh-uh. Uh-uh. You must stop with the talk about this shirt.”

Going for coffee, I hear a woman crying above me. On the sidewalk below her apartment, someone has spray-painted:

YOU

ARE

CON

TEN

TED.

Me: What do doggies say?

Trevor: Woof! Woof!

Me: What do horsies say?

Treveor: Wheeeen!

Me: What do duckies say?

Trevor: Whack! Whack!

Me: What do Trevors say?

Trevor: Please!

J: I’ve only ever gotten two tickets.
Me: Tell the speeding one.
J: It was bad.
Me: What were you doing?
J: I was going 92 in a 55.
R: Jesus.
J: And I talked back to the cop.
Me: Why?
J: He was just going on and on about how I could’ve killed someone. You know?
R: What did you say?
J: I said, “Just give me the ticket.”
Me: Whoa.
J: I was in a hurry.
Me: Where were you going?
J: To yoga.

The Muni line that runs up Market gets a lot of tourists. The trains are vintage Italian streetcars, they’re electric and run on tracks. Today, there are two trains on the same track. A tourist approaches the one in the rear and asks the driver, “Which train leaves first?” He blinks at her, then at the train in front of him. “This one,” he replies. She climbs aboard.