cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

lifting

can you understand how beautiful san francisco is in sunshine? there are all these unbeautiful things i have to show you, that immediately become more real, sharper and faster, in late afternoon sunshine, so that they are all transformed, lined with pixie dust.

the muni flew, it must have, because i missed it all. maybe it was the half-glass of white wine i had at work before leaving – yes, friday evening happy hour actually comes to work, instead of waiting outside politely – or maybe it was just that i was a bit nervous, and overanalyzing the situation. as per usual.

dinner was charming. my dining companion was charming. i will mention her here if she wants to be mentioned; until i ask her permission, she will remain a vagueness of time and place, left to the reader to decide what sort of person does halsted dine with on friday evenings. the food was overwhelmingly good, fresh seafood and veggies, and banana foster for dessert.

my dining companion kindly drove me to the bus stop. while i was waiting for a bus home, one arrived, full to bursting with giants’ fans. i stepped aside and let the rest of the people who were waiting (im)patiently go ahead and smush into this bus as they made such remarks as, “we should drag those giants’ fans off the bus and kick them.” uh, nice.

(i looked at the moon, sometime in here, because i felt i should remember what phase it was. now i’ve already forgotten, and looking it up elsewhere seems false.)

the later bus was only fifteen minutes later, almost empty, and just as direct. i fell asleep before we passed the metreon, which is a new personal record. i must have been tired. hopping off the bus at the bus pad meant hoofing it under the overpass (not over the underpass, something entirely different) and then to home, which was cheerily lit among the other, darkened windows and doorways.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.

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