Picture this: Its early on a tuesday morning. From the window at the gym I can see a guy standing at the Muni stop waiting for the F-Market to show up. He’s probably in his early 30’s. Standing there, with a slight ponch to his stomach, wearing a montley outfit. His hat that looks like like a cross between a cowboy hat and an austrialian outback hat (the kind with the big floppy brim – pinned up on one side – though his was down). His shirt is powder blue with that little piping above the snap pockets that look like they belong in a rodeo. His pants aren’t quite jeans… they aren’t quite cords… they aren’t quite slacks. they’re something somewhere in that odd place where all three would intersect… His shoes are tennis shoes that have seen a lot of wear… brown… floppy… with three darker brown stripes on the outsides and frayed laces that seem to refuse to stay tied.

In one arm he carries a a small boom box… you know – the kind that you find at target for $30 or so – rounded corners – about the size of a couple of boxes of kleenex – cassette tape player… And its in a plastic bag… like a vegetable bag with a twist-tie keeping it shut.

In the other hand he has a vinyl bag that almost resembles a bowling ball bag.. almost but not quite… with stripes down the side and plastic handles. And the zipper on the top is open because it is too full to close without ripping the zipper away from the vinyl. And through the top you can see what looks to be a Whitman’s Sampler peeking through the gap.

While waiting for the street car he leans over the rail to catch the attention of someone he knows. The person stands facing him and away from me. He (or she) is wearing all black including a black cowboy hat – a real one – like the bad guy on bonanza would wear.. A black leather jacket, black jeans, and black boots.. And out from under the hat you can see shoulder length wavy light blonde hair flowing out.. Slightly unkempt but not ratty… They talk briefly before the street car shows up and he scurrys off, bags in hand to head off for the day.

Now take it from there: What is this guy’s story? Where is he off to? Where has he come from? What is his story?

Here’s my guess… what is yours?

My Guess? This guy is new to town. But not new in the way the rest of us are when we arrive. He’s new to everything about this town and always will be.. He may have arrived here last week or last year or ten years ago. But whenever he showed up here doesn’t matter – he’s still amazed, shocked, horrified, thrilled, and tantalized by everything in this town.. To us San Francisco is just like any other city in the country.. or the world for that matter… Same people.. same problems… same aggravations.. same restaurants.. To us it is something that is in the periphery of our consciousness… To him it is terrifying and tantalizing for reasons we probably don’t even notice.

He probably spent his whole life in one of those towns where everyone knows his name, his parent’s name, and everything about everyone… Everyone he grew up with looks just like him. They went to the same church, listened to the same music, and spent Sundays in the summer time cooking and swatting at flies over potato salad… And yet he never quite felt comfortable there. Never felt like himself. Never wanted what his family wanted. Longed for something more…

After years spent working with his family doing whatever it is they do he decided it was time for a change… He had heard about San Francisco… heard about the jail on the island… heard about the big red bridge.. heard about the cable cars… heard about the ‘gays’… he had even seen glimpses on his old TV of the debauchery… But, unlike others he knew, he wasn’t repulsed by it… He was even secretly fascinated by it… Something about the freedom… It had to be seen…

He finally mustered the nerve… He got on a bus.. .And when he stepped off onto 2nd street and looked up at the buildings of downtown a chill ran down his spine… Terror perhaps… but probably not!

He found a job… small job to most but huge in his eyes much more… probably in a call center… answering phones and helping people from everywhere… he was thrilled to talk to so many different kinds of people… his cute accent and friendly disposition got him a long ways and took people off guard… his awkward demeanor was masked by the phone.. his little cube in the huge cube farm was something new and great.. The radio in his arm was on its way to his first day in that cube farm.. something of HIS.. something fun… The bag its in? just what it came in and a convenient way to protect this treasure…

He also found a flat… tiny flat… one room… shared bathroom… but friendly… different kinds of people in the building of all sorts… he didn’t have much to furnish it with… pillows and blankets to start… then grew with simple things from there… few kitchen necessities… small stove… radio… and lots of books… A little safe place to go to regroup.. to take cover when the hustle got to be too much..

His clothes?… what’s wrong with his clothes? its what he knew.. what he grew up with… what he’s comfortable with… crossroads trading company is the closest thing to home he can find.. and so what… So the boys in San Francisco look like peacocks in spring… who cares… they were nice to look at – but he couldn’t do that if he tried.. and he didn’t want to…

The other bag? the bowling bag? Thats full of traveling gear.. stuff you would never want to part with.. not much really… change of clothes… running shoes and shorts perhaps.. A book… and a phone number he got from a guy named Mike… One day he’ll call it…. but not yet… thats a terrifying proposition…

And the Sampler?… Thats from his Mom… Not that sampler in particular – that one he got at the Walgreen’s on market and Sanchez… but the Widmars Sampler is a taste he got from his mom… She got him one every year for valentines day… From the Woolworth’s in town… Back when the teacher didn’t force every kid to give a valentine to everyone… The only thing that made Valentine’s day tolerable was the Sampler.. That and the valentine from the blonde girl that gave him the stuffed sheep… Was just nice that someone thought of him… Even if now he was scared to death about calling a guy named Mike for coffee… (what is it about coffee in this town anyway)…

His mom misses him.. but is proud of him… His dad… he misses him too.. but won’t admit it to others… Men don’t admit such things…

And the person in the black cowboy hat… One of the few people he understands in this town… so far at least… They met at the raw hide… he isn’t texan… or even two steps very well… but that doesn’t matter… the crowd welcomed him… and didn’t care about the shirt… And black hat was there … and didn’t two step either…

or who knows… could be just a badly dressed man with a cheap radio… Think I like my version better though!

I was born in Chicago and we lived there for the first couple of years of my life… Evanston actually.. A suburb of Chicago where Northwestern University is (where my dad went to school)…

When I was really little my mom tells me I used to LOVE to sit on the porch in the afternoon and watch the kids come home from school… Kind of true to form actually – I’m still a HUGE people watcher… Sitting in an airport and watching the weird people is one of my FAVORITE things…

Anyway… she’d plop me on the front stoop round 1 or 2 in the afternoon with a little red box of raisins and I’d be entertained watching the kids go by while she did work round the house.

Apparently one of these days she came out to check on me and found me sitting there with a box of grasshoppers instead of my usual raisins and i had one in my hand bout to munch on it… Best we can figure either one of the kids passing decided to be clever and replace my raisins with grasshoppers or I had collected them myself… Probably the former..

Does raise the question of where my mom was at the time but thats really just paranoia of todays world – when I was a kid it wouldn’t have even occurred to folks that it might not be a good idea to leave me alone on the porch… Think the mindset was that I wasn’t likely to get hurt myself and if I did probably wouldn’t what ever I did to hurt myself again.. And why would anyone else mess with a little kid…

Why would anyone mess with a little kid anyway? Kids are the most precious thing in the world!

Though the grasshoppers don’t bother me… kinda funny really! :)

Night Kids! …

JABBERWOCKY

Lewis Carroll
(from Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There, 1872)

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
  And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
  The frumious Bandersnatch!”

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
  Long time the manxome foe he sought –
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
  And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
  And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
  He went galumphing back.

“And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?
  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!’
  He chortled in his joy.

`Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.