You think you can put all the pop in a box and leave it on the street? No, you cannot. The infectious beats, they are inside you.
In San Francisco, how many more fire insurance policies get taken out on July 5th?
The Straight Agenda claims the space in front of the Ben & Jerry’s in Upper Haight. Residents shrug dismissively, move on with their lives.
Math is a zany 60s comedy, a Woody Allen kind of thing, but with a wink-wink/nudge-nudge aesthetic that just doesn’t hold up. You liked it when you were younger, but then you discovered girls.
I want a real lived-in floor, a floor that’s seen things. Not a been-around-the-world floor, but a rode-hard floor, the kind that’s taken it on the chin and better for it. Helluva floor to walk on, that. You will do nicely.
Skate or die.
The sun runs on science.
Street fashion.
Your disappointment, my art.
A satellite dish that only picks up garbage, and you can never change the channel. That’s entertainment?
Drop tomorrow on your foot today.
Lost & Found, Market Street. If this is yours, please email [email protected].
Found the strangest blotter art at the bus stop today.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,
Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.
I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master.
I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster.
— Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.
Weary of the dominance of culinary pop-ups, a gym. Novelty drives this market.