Woke up this morning without a clue as to what was going to happen on this fine day or what was on the top of my list to accomplish with minimal distraction. Waking up alone without a warm and sensitive body next to me is hardly earth shattering news since I am pretty much a loner character. Under the radar I think is the best way to achieve your wants or needs. I intend to remain well under the radar as my existence on this planet unfolds or unwinds from the tangled web I hqve been engulfed in.
The cuckoo clock had run out of chain and stopped at 6:10 +/. It could be anytime for all I could tell. Dark and foggy out, so it’s a toss of the coin considering the cuckoo doesn’t have one of those Led glow all the time screens to tell me what is before me. I saw daylight as I opened my eyes further glancing out toward the bay windows protruding over Jones Street looking east at Treasure Island, a blue sky with puffy white clouds, Mt. Diablo in the distant view that is past the Hayward Fault and with suburbia separating it all from me.
Feeling safe, I had nowhere to go in a rush, so slowly I slide around the mattress finding a familiar spot and drifted off for a couple more winks. When I found myself within my dreams I drifted further and further into the abyss. A rare commodity with all the sirens, horns honking and squawking birds that surround my hole in the wall. I enjoy being nestled up out of the way from prying eyes with curious minds and devious thoughts that you find in an urban setting such as San Francisco.
Suddenly, everything shook like a slab of chilled jelly on a small plate. This little piece of the sky I stumbled on ten years ago has become one of those places you don’t care to leave, or, would even want to regardless of a nuclear attack. You could watch it all from this location, plus some. Granted, it may be close to a hundred years old, smaller than a 36C, closer to a 34 she claimed, as it is sandwiched between to other buildings.So the minor earthquake I was feeling right now didn’t concern me. I am comfortably on the top floor. Now, had I been located on the bottom floor I would be out in the street by now away from the overhead electrical lines that run down the street for the MUNI buses. If for some unknown reason we happened to rock or slide off the foundation there was a row of buildings that would have to go down before I felt concerned. The domino effect, if accurate, suggests that it is best to be on the top for as long as possible. Simulating life, staying on top of it that is.
A morning walk seemed to be in order. The neighborhood is a blessing in disguize, you will see I think as we head down Jackson Street toward Polk Gultch and the thriving throngs of resident transplants from all corners of the globe. We’ll see it in a few,as I am stumbling around with my feet hitting the cold tile floor. I am out of the comfort zone where I was installed in a deep mindless rest. Little did I know at the time, my fate was sealed. A seducer lurked amongst us and saw what we could not ourselves visualize. I better be on top of it if I am going out into the world.
I felt positive today hitting Jones St. walking down Jackson as the Cable Car dinged away down to Fisherman’s Wharf with a few locals in a commute. At this time of the morning any tourists visiting The City by the Bay are still in their Union Square top dollar bed. The Wharf tourists are slumming with us blue collars, artists and homeless. A hipster on occasion may be spotted unable to find their way back to Valencia Street in The Mission. They look for the 49 MUNI or 14L Mission line to get them to fqmiliar ground. Every citizen should appreciate their publicly funded private chauffeur aka the bus, for all to use, I know I do without a doubt. A good walk down the 27 line right will do me wonders. When we hit the Wharf, The Bush Man and Chrome Guy should be performing as we wander down past them through the throngs of bodies of all ages. You’ve seen the likes of them at the Pike in Long Beach, Sunset Strip or Venice Beach. There must be some in Ft. Lauderdale at spring break, South Miami and all the hot spots for the XYZ Generation for that matter. Who would know it would boil down to the creative mind over what mattered. New age, new standards and tolerance levels for the absurd are part of the norm until maybe you get over to the bookstore.
.Well, considering the previous evening, it is an amazing feat I accomplished. My toxic behavior, bluesy mood and sour attitude had taken full advantage of my senses. As she walked up to me as I was reading my novel, her smile was recognizable from my years of existence so right then I realized this again is not going to be another one of your normal encounters. I motioned her ear over and spoke softly, to her noticing her slim neckline and slender back. “I’m not sure if you’re looking for me or not but, I am available for your any needs”.
She countered with” Do I know you”?
I responded with “Not well enough yet.” A short feminine sigh came out of her. “well I haven’t heard that opening before.”
“Please, join me for something to eat, I have this table right here. We can enough the street traffic and locals as we eat”.
She had trapped me and until the moment of her coming into my life I was a lost soul scattered in the wind of an emotionless existence.
Biggest Frog in the puddle I am not. So why do I seem to attract these seductive females? Have they no common sense? I don’t see how it could be my pleasant personality and demeanor. No one I know currently would agree with me on that without a wary glance.
Some small weakness had become to me early last night and I chucked it away as a foolish hillbilly would discard a fresh mason jar of home brew. The notion of traveling back to memories of forgotten times just doesn’t appeal or fascinate me. I rather have my mind and thoughts on the here and now. I now can figure out who is generating the heat next to me. A sweet dazzling woman, blonde and full of life’s positive outlook, Lizzie. I’m going to try and figure out how people stay in bed all day having intimate contact while the world drifts by in chaos. Maybe, I should have a finance committee do a study and give me the results. All profit margins need to be met, and will, trust me on that one.
I haven’t even crossed the threshold and gone out into the real world yet as the sun rises above the financial district. Boy, it sure is bright out today I thought squinting my eyes as I slide on my round Lennon shades discovered at the thrift store for a mere investment of $2.49.Lizzie stirred, moaned a sexy question “What time is it?” Knowing she wasn’t ready yet to open her eyes I let it go unanswered. Across the bay Berkley is glistening from afar. The blue sky against the green hills scattered with puffy white clouds is a site to behold. Sailboats listing in the 25 mile an hour wind filled the choppy bay water. Another day in paradise waited my attendance. The numerous ferries with their bows breaking the water into wakes spot the bay waters, while the weekend sailboat crowd is out in full. The Bay Bridge all new after 25 years of starting with the process is about completed. Sacramento sure moves fast or I should say slow when the pork is involved. Steel imported from China certainly didn’t help our local economy.
Okay, hitting the road,leaving Lizzie smiling away in her oblivia I start wandering down for a cup of java. I’m not a $3.00 a cup Starbucks character so I stopped into the local joint ay Hyde and Jackson as life surrounded me. Cable cars clanging the brass bells, little rat dogs yipping as you walk by woke me up as I walked half asleep and dazed from an excellent evening. One yapper stretched his leach at me on the way down at so I stamped my foot and growled. Its tail went between its legs as it shivered as if in a snow storm. The owner gave me the one finger salute, so I gave it back, said good morning, “control your rat dog buddy”.” I can kick your ass” he countered with. I kept trekking down Jackson. Way too early for this noise or any conflict.
One must appreciate art forms that are an extension of reality. Who’s reality is yet to be seen.
I must admit, the ladies that frequent these little coffee bistro’s are intriguing, sensual and, well, that too. This is an arousing first thing in the morning excersice. We all need to keep the blood flowing and an active, vivid imagination regardless of age and personal situations
Back to last night, I thought about her blood flowing freely. Pulsating and throbbing, a woman’s swollen anatomy is better than one would believe.I have convinced myself or convinced Lizzie a sure way to spend some time on a layover, coming from across from the other side of the continent is to make love and have intimacy with someone other than the normal. That sounded like a good idea yesterday when we met. Or should I say I wouldn’t let her get away? That’s right, see is a stewardess. Cheesy she said to call herself a stewardess, so I go with the politically correct version, Flight Attendant.. My personal situations crossed my mind and I had to chuckle to myself. Reality be damned I want no part of it. A pleasure seeking fool is all I have amounted to, so back off. My personal situation is still in bed no doubt wondering where I have wandered off to without serving a tasty cup of drip brewed coffee. I figured or hoped, after a night of healthy, intimate contact she wouldn’t be raising her head until noon or later, closer to happy hour that we enjoyed, our favorite time of the day.
Ambient awareness, such a concept delivered to me from places unknown. Better check the orbit page and see if I am listed. Wondering what was next I simply thought of nothing. Let it all come about at its own pace. Who cares if the world is round? Maybe your geography instructor you had from 8th grade, but not me. It could be a rectangle for all I am concerned today.
Anyway, the creative urge took control of my soul and what little common sense I carried at this god awful hour of 10AM.
It’s like, I thought back when I was a younger man. My professional talent was required and insisted upon to trim the trees newly arrived from the north coast. Into finely shaped dunce hats I carved away creating the dreams and memories small children would have. What did Santa or ole St. Nick bring they would wonder for weeks. Finally, opening another finely wrapped gift it would dawn on them that the gift was made in China and after a couple hours of play it became top drawer material. No doubt the national debt could be resolved if the government took eminent domain over the season and mindless shopaholics bustling about all in a hurry to go nowhere but the ATM machine. Don’t forget the fake snow flocking, another $22.95 of product sold.
Hell, you could drive to the snow for that with gas at $3.50 a gallon and have the real stuff. You might get cold and wet but at least it wasn’t like watching television the other fake reality bestowed upon us by some marketing guru in the Hollywood Hills or Manhattan. The Almighty dollar working wonders for all involved. This included myself at minimum wage, just enough to keep me in a few beers and a burger.
So, not withstanding any prior indulgence in comprehendible thought I turned into a homicidal tree carver. The Jewish community that surrounded my carving area stuck behind the store, thought it was quite spectacular as I butchered, sliced and diced the trees into finely shaped masterpieces. I think this is when it came to my pea brain that I was The Artiste. They all came out onto their back porches as I went to work an applauded after each butcher job I completed.
My talent went unappreciated by the manager of the one store I was trying to get transferred to. I would have been closer to home, I would be able to sleep in an extra twenty minutes and be in my own neighborhood where I thrived. Here I could relax some, wait on the neighbors, and who knows even maybe meet someone interesting at the burger joint next door on my time off.
The no go on the transfer happened and I couldn’t even believe it. This came after I helped my new potential superior, that’s not superior in intelligence, up off the sidewalk in a drunken stupor one evening. Apparently I learned from the homeless guy that hangs out in front of Walgreens panhandling all day that this bozo had been stumbling drunk for the most part of the early evening. I wondred to myself if I was looking at my future self.
The sidewalk had weeds that were growing up through the cracks, leaves and trash blew down the gutter and piled up against the storm drain giving an eerie feeling. It seemed that you were really not here but in a place of uncertainity. It was still early enough that we still had some old timers strolling by with their walkers humming the night away. I could not believe this guy didn’t even recognize me as I grabbed him by his arms and pulled. I could have claimed disability trying to lift him and his beer belly up before the beat cop came by and dragged his ass down to 850Bryant Street, home of the grey bar Hilton. No doubt he didn’t realize his errors even then. Sometimes I should just stay in bed and dream away the day.
So home I headed, found Lizzy still smiling in a sleepy daze as I fondled her panties off with little protest. Difficult this wasn’t, exuberating it was. She just couldn’t stop me from my actions no matter how she wanted it to come out of her sleeping haze. I gave her my best thoughts and gently slide down her pants as she grappled with the buttons of my Levis. Lusting her I couldn’t help but get as hard as a crowbar. I wanted to pry it open and indulge myself while she moaned and shimmed along with the beat of the music blasting out from the speakers placed sporadically about the humble abode. Sliding gently inside of her we both could feel the motion around us and between us.
The neighbor walked in as we continued to enjoy ourselves, grabbed a beer, cracked it open sat down and inspected the activity. Now you would think this might cripple my activity but since having not heard anyone knock or ring the cow bell I was in a world of my own blissful existence. At least being unaware at times helps with the calmness of serenity. Lying back on the massive pillow pile when I had finished with my tasks, getting some of the tasty bush, heart beat near critical.
Kurt Dunlap hails from San Francisco, California and may be reached at email@example.com