Me in a nut shell

This is what the man (asshole) in the Ford with American Indian jewlery hanging from his rear view saw yesterday on Geary when he stopped short to block me from crossing the street. After throwing his hands up, I said "What? you stopping short on me?" he says " GO FUCK YOURSELF!!! You........ garbage....... man........." and speeds off as I salute him for his creativity in belittlement.

Cubisim?

Nancy showed me this link in the comment a few posts below and although I am super fucking jealous I didn't come up with the idea first the jealousy is superseded by the sheer feeling of amazement/disgust/befuddlement/confoundedness/agassesness that someone would pay $50.00 for a cube of trash from a tourist attraction. It has come to my attention in picking up city cans that its tourists leaving behind most of this trash and the idea that someone would want to commemorate their trip by paying for someone Else's trash makes me crazy. The kind of crazy that has dollar signs in its eyes! Who's with me here? Let us make some money selling garbage (made in china?).

I mean isn't that what commerce is all about? Showing someone that there is a hole in their life and filling it.
In this case their life is the land fill and I am still the God damned garbage man... So cyclical its nauseating.

Also, the guy calls the cubes-o-trash "scupltures". Who is this guy? Marcel Duchamp's great grandson? Would he call him Great grand-DADA?

Mine own two eyes.

Cable car turn around at Powell and Market.
A blind Asian man sings "the sun will come out tomorrow" for spare change into a microphone that plays from his travel case (the kind the business class uses).
A young Urban person approaches him mid song and axes/demands the mic.
The blind man gives the mic up like a shell shocked folk singer at his first open mic night while young jeezy (shoes untied, laces spread out a foot on either side of his feets) begins an over the top R&B song directed in the direction of Blonde's Pizza.

Saw the blind singer yesterday singing his own version of an Air Supply song changing the lyrics to "I can't fight my feeling anymore!". REMIX!!!!

Service with a smile.

Jack in the box.
Mission at 4th st.
street "individual" holding the door open for patrons hoping to incur the endless amounts of spare change folks are all too ready to give out if someone would just hold the door open for them when they enter a building.
Sporting a half assed smile beneath a full beard (I have come to learn he is called the wolf man, I'm guessing for the beard and not what he does in the park at night),
his looks chiseled by the streets, or speed (Same thing?).
His Steed (bike) leans against the wall with a custom paint job in purple, black and silver paint pen that simply states all his views in three simple letters: FTW.

Woke up drowning in chatchkie hell.

A few weeks ago I was picking up city cans in Union Square. I opened one on Stockton Street and found a twenty staring back at me. Now I have been fooled before, many times by 9-11 bills, some promo add for a dry cleaner desined to look like a bill, even a poo dollar has caught me off guard. But this was the real deal and it was Friday so I was pumped and now more so. The remainder of the shift was spent driving around picking up more tepid coffee remains (thanks Starbuck) and dog shit (these two are the majority of the contents of city cans), my anniversary was coming up and I was going to drop some cash on knives and other such food-nerd supplies for the wife and this would certainly help the ding be a bit less loud, then again I could get dinner or beer or gas. The mind gets busy quick, like when you are about to get a settlement and you have mapped out what the cash is going to.

It always ends bad. Always.
This instance was no different.

The victory lap of my shift was Market street between Stockton and North 5th st. and I could feel the fucker flutter around in my right pocket where I had shoved it hastily upon discovery, when I came upon this punk or crusty or train hopper or whatever and she had a dog and her clear cup was empty and I started to do the math of what I was making per day, per hour etc., I eye balled the dog and thought about mine and how important it is that I make sure she eats. So in a thought full/less instant I turned to the girl and said "look what I found in the garbage" as I handed her the Twomp (that used to be "street" for a 20 sack, K.I.R.!) she sprang into what I thought was going to be an inspired one woman reenactment of a scene from Bill and Teds excellent adventure as if she was doing "street theatre".
No. Not so lucky. This was her style.
"DUDE! THANKS DUDE! REALLY?"
I almost said no, not really and took the shit back. It was obvious that this chick was a junkie and I saw exactly where my money (mine?) was going as she carried on with "I JUST GOT INTO TOWN... HOW DO YOU GET THIS JOB? THAT'S COOL! MAN! REALLY? NO WAY! YOU ARE THE COOLEST!"

I couldn't hear her anymore. I was seeing red and rehearsing how I would never tell anyone about this, just like the time I was taken for $20 by the dude wearing a stethoscope saying he worked at the hospital and he was late for his shift and that needed a ride to his sisters house and in a moment of vulnerability, human kindness and whole hearted foolishness i gave him both the ride and the 20. Fuck me running! I just did that?
yes.

As her "old man" approached she phased me out and I stormed back to the truck watching her dance around the blanket they had layed down I suppose in an attempt to avoid getting dirtier, waving the money as if she were singing "we gonna get high tonight".
So bummed. I shut it out. Completly.

until...
I found a tenner Monday in the recycling, I stopped the blade from taking it into the truck with all the junk mail, FHM mags, Yachting digest and other non recyclable items like power chords, dvd players, toaster ovens, mattress pads, pots and pans, the occasional bumper from a car (its endless the kind of shit people think you can magically recycle just by putting it in the blue can "well it has metal and plastic right?"), at any rate I grabbed the ten repeating "not this time" over and over again out loud.
This one bought drinks for my partner and my self for two days. Not tye-dyed rolling papers, chore boy brillo pads and butane lighters.

In recent weeks I have found:
Mole skin journal that I left on the roof of my car, only to remember it on the bridge.
A shopping bag full of Diesel jeans and some other expensive denim brands that the women in the marina think that once they are done with it that it should just be trashed. "Banana Republic cashmere when combined with stripper shoes will decompose right?" (LETS GREEN THIS CITY! LIKE REALLY!)
Cell phone holster still in is package.
Sorry ass love letters.
A lamp shaped like a tree that need the wiring replaced.

Have I mentioned that the only panties you ever see are thongs? You never see granny panties or just plain old panties, always thongs. I guess you get what you pay for...

Anyway. I have rambled enough.
Perhaps I will find the motivation to connect the scanner soon and share some finds.
Until then I guess you will be left to read poorly written gibberish. Just be glad I utilize the spell check.
Until then I remain glowing in the pre-dawn light.

WILD STALLIONS!
-Socrates