Tired, tired in the bones and hours to go until I come off the color of the late winter sky.
A story about a little animal print chair in the big city, and the people he meets. A choose-your-own-adventure kind of tale for today’s chair.
Universally accepted distress symbol.
The remedy for the ensuing sadness when tilting at a tipple isn’t enough. It calls to mind an inverted bell curve, where youthful excitement cedes to gamification. If we make it to 60 and can still drink? Happy days, here again.
Ample Parking
Market & 8th, in the not-so-distant past
Make you a deal: trade some of my kerning for your QUILT.
You, Descartes, and my maternal grandmother.
The glorious cause of labor.
Behold, the Tenderloin National Forest’s Pygmy Forest. Now’s your chance to pitch that Smurfette/elf/sprite show at Market Street Cinema, dirty hippies, whathaveyou.
Patient is the hunter who hunts the big game of Market Street.
Market Street’s least appealing peep show.
The best kind of city should look like a photomontage, like a Hannah Höch.
Advertising works its magic, & I won’t rest until I get me some mush.
Pasties of Market Street: itty bitty city titty edition.
Page 1 of 3
