I PUT IT TO MY EAR AND LISTENED TO IT

I GET VERY EXCITED WHEN I STUMBLE UPON THESE

REMOVE A FEW PESKY SHARDS OF GLASS AND WHA-LA

DOWNTOWN SF?

FOUND AND READ AND DUG

27" AND COTTER PINNERS

THE ONLY THING I CANNOT GET WITH HERE IS THE SURFBOARD

NO PROBLEM

SMOKED FISH, CHINATOWN

WRONG ONE FULL

BUSY LIVIN'

Been gone too long.
Lots of finds forthcoming.
Please come around soon.

NUMBER 6 IN YOUR BOOK

According to these folks I hold the 6th worst job.
I ain't saying it is the best job in the world.
But I have worked in an office, a copy shop, a pizza place, a liquor store, a furniture store, a health food store, light construction and a bike messenger and it beats the hell out of all of those there and back.

The messenger gig had its perks though.
Mostly the pot, coffee, bitchin tan lines and meeting the wife.

I WANT MY BABY BACK

In the summer I spotted these signs in the affluent Marina neighborhood,
I found them to be a humorous peek into the way the other half reacts when
things are taken from them.

Not all that different I suppose.

There were a few minutes when I thought about calling the number and
telling the individual that I had just spotted a group of inner city teens
riding a gas grill down Van Ness but like most of my best ideas it was
replace by distracting thoughts of sparkly things on the ground and coffee.

Last Monday I was servicing the first customer on a route in this neighborhood
when a man walks up behind me and starts screaming "I WANT MY BARBEQUE BACK! I WANT MY BARBEQUE BACK!" followed by a cold glare.

Could this be the guy? Does he think that I, the omnipresent all knowing garbage man, was the one that stole/threw away his gas grill?! Or is he just venting at the company in general?

What are the chances that he would scream this at possibly the only trash man to have known what he was talking about?

After a few hours of work, both physical and mental (trying like hell not to forget how my day had started, see sparkly things on the ground) I was passing down Chestnut st when I heard a commotion at the Apple store. I glanced over as I drove past to see a man screaming "I WANT MY BARBEQUE BACK! I WANT MY BARBEQUE BACK!" at the genius behind the giant glass door.

And thus I was given my answer.

I FOUND A SWORD IN A... TRASH CAN

I pulled the sword from a can.
This young sire pulled it from
yard sale.

YOU WOKE UP MY NEIGHBOURHOOD

Twenty years ago I was sleeping the afternoon away, at fifteen this is what you do. I awoke to a banging on the bedroom window. Thinking it was a friend instigating some skateboarding I dismissed it with a wave of the hand. The insistent noise did not quit.

I found myself seeking coverage with my dog in a doorway only later to discover that it had no frame, it went straight to the ceiling. It was not the first time something was alerting my attention to my lack of.

The pics below were gleaned from the Chronicle, they are of the neighborhood my grandmother grew up in. They are also of an area we service a lot of customers inside the buildings. This is one of the reasons I run in with empty cans and run out with full ones. No need for extra trips.

BIKE CULTURE IN THE TRASH

Found this clip while answering one of Bike Snob NYC's quizes:



There is nothing quite like trash and cycling mixed together.
So much of it these days:

















Case in point, Campy Record laced to Araya rims leaning against a trash can for pick up on Treasure Island.

Just brings me one hundred or so dollars closer to being a big dummy.

Pretty soon I will show you my sword.
Shit ye not.

PROTECT YA NECK (or grill)

The rich get richer and the poor come up on a fresh grill.

EVERYTHING IS TITS

After being hurt for the better part of five months and not being able to hustle the can as much as my inner rage would prefer i got soft, gained some pounds.
Now that I am back the weight is shedding, the muscles are hurting all over again, the toes are rebuilding their calluses and the nipples are chaffing.

Really?

Sadly, yes.

Good thing the wife has some of this laying about.
However at the end of the day, the lanolin stains the shirt much to the same as the tortured gent pictured above, yet less drippy.

I think that I am now beginning to understand the odd stares I have been getting at the coffee shop after work...

TROLLING FOR TRASH

In a way its like being a fisherman,
just with more dog shit.
Found here,
and here.

ACCOMPLISHITTED

In a can I noticed two dozen trophies,
I turned to the owner of the building who was watching me dump his trash
"This is sad, they are someone's accomplishments..."

"My sons are the worst athletes ever."