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under_control
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» tongues Tonight I left the movie theater and walked along through San Francisco to the train station. I was feeling free of responisibilty and care. At the corner of 4th and Market there was a man playing an electric guitar, dressed like Jimi Hendrix, and accompanied by a guy playing drums on a set of buckets. Damn, they sounded good. I would miss this sort of thing if I moved away from the city. All these people from different walks of life standing around to appreciate the groove of a crazy street musician at 10PM. The rumble of the passing streetcars only added to the scene. On the first train a woman sat next to me, and then stood up a few minutes later and moved to another seat. Ostensibly she did this to switch from a backward-facing seat to a forward-facing seat. But the effect of such a switch is a bit tough on the ego, sometimes. Tonight I didn't really care. The transfer train in Oakland was only 3 cars long and I had to stand. But that didn't bother me. I amused myself by looking at the hands of all those around me. Peoples' hands are such interesting indicators of their character. The shapes of the fingers, the nails, the knuckles all have something to say. The lines across the palm can shift and change in a matter of weeks. When I left the train station in Berkeley, I came across my favorite neighborhood cat. He is perhaps the most vocal cat I've ever met. Maybe I could record him and put a sound file on an entry someday. He meows and meows loudly and without pause between the mrr-ows. I suspect that he is hungry--he always looks so frail--but I never have food to give him. Instead I scratch his cheeks and, for some reason, speak to him in German and French, as if he's more likely to understand me in those tongues. Sometimes I am a stranger even to myself.
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diaryland |