Sam was sitting there asleep at the shoeshine, unable to open his eyes, yet able to mumble profusely. The shiner was doing everything possible to prevent himself from a raging breakout of laughter. Sam must’ve been telling a good story. It had to have been around 9:30 by the time I saw him, but I didn’t know for sure because my cell phone and watch were both in one of my check-ins. A check-in that was most likely not on my upcoming flight. I had been wanked around ten times this morning, but I can’t say that some of the wanking wasn’t deserved. And even if it wasn’t deserved, it could have been prevented by either more planning or less partying or more thinking or less me-ing. Or more meaning. That’s what we’re all looking for, eh? My grandfather’s bag was too big, and even though we arrived at the airport together, Chad made it on our flight, but I did not. He was in the air, and I was looking at Sam, drooling and jabbering on the shoeshine box. “Man, this shoe shine sh!t is pretty good. Get me all shined and shtuff. I said, man, shine these dogs cuz they have liquor and girl all over em. Need to get em clean, cuz this week has been dirty.” It was fairly easy for me to separate his words for him, even though the job he was doing at enunciating was frightening. The job I’m doing at telling this story is frightening, there was so much I wanted to say, but really, it’s too convoluted for a substantial or linear tale. So I guess I’ll just sit here and type for a few, maybe you’ll read the style and if there were pages, you’d attempt to turn the page in hopes for reading more.
The most gorgeous girl in the club, was she. The dumbest and most TKO tequila’d kids in the joint, we were. Couldn’t have done a better job at putting myself in a worse situation, getting smacked and shut down and yelled at by the most beautiful girl in San Francisco. What a bad idea. And she wasn’t even in the industry. I watched as she handed her champagne to another, a gracious move even though it was free. Alcohol has the same value if it is free or a typical, gouged-up San Francisco price. So I parted the affiliates away from the bar and called at my man. Since busting in, ordering eight shots and hooking him up with a money grip tippy, he would do anything he could to keep me ordering. Anyway, I’m not big on stereotyping people, cities, or techniques of destruction, but in changing the realm of the topic slightly but not the topic, what the hell is up with the homeless problem in Frisco? I’d read a few years ago that per city limit occupant, San Fran harbored more homeless people than anywhere else in the country, but honestly, come on! I can go out 10 nights in Los Angeles, fifteen nights in New York, and twenty nights in Vegas and not get approached by as many bums as in one evening out cruising around my neighbor to the north. There are a number of theories as to why this is the case, and probably one or two of true viability. Basically, if things ain’t right and you dwell the streets because there’s no other way for you, you’ll go where you can survive, right? The wannabe actors in L.A. aren’t giving you any money, the taken masses in Vegas can’t spare any cents, and New Yorkers are walking too fast, so I guess that’s why whenever I visit SF, I’m not too surprised to see the masses. It’s like 28 Days Later there are so many tortured bodies on the streets. And it’s of additional charm that you’re forced to step over urine streams in front of the nicest restaurants and hotels in the city. But I really love that place. Charming shops, delightful cuisine, lovely accommodations and plenty of diversity. I’m pleased that I’m so patient and accepting, because it really adds to the flavor of life if you’re at ease with yourself. Some of the heads cruising with me took issue with watching every third couple be two men, and everything third person on the street be on the street. Nah, it isn’t that bad. I used to give homeless guys a lot of money, I really did. And that’s when I was a powhitewriter, not a member of the blessed and ever-privileged affiliate marketing syndicate. But one day, at the gas station, I was accosted in a methodical and terrible way. To be blindsided or attacked is bad news, for sure, but to be pleaded with and prayed to only to be accosted after you give someone money, that just spoils it for everybody. Sorry for the bummer, fellas, but I don’t hand out any more cash on the street. That one guy just soured your milk, and when the milk I’m serving turns sour, it doesn’t get fresh again without a lot of effort. Oh yeah, I can’t forget the shout-out I promised to Nancy M- the party was awesome. Very nice work from you guys.
“Hey, Bryan. My shine is done. Gimme some bucks for it.” I knew I had plenty of folded bills in my front pocket, but I was nervous to find out how many. Tequila man behind the counter had taken me on a wild trip, and I wasn’t back home just yet. What time is it? Can I possibly be in danger of missing this flight as well? At least I think my bags are on this flight, not that it will do any good if I miss it. Or if I get on and they somehow aren’t able to fit my bags, that’s almost worse. Then I’ll be back in Angeles but stuck at the airport until my bags arrive. How did all of this happen? Oh wait, now I’m remembering.
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