PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

So I took this bus trip to San Francisco, your typical troubled teenager thirsting for something he can’t yet understand why. Contrary, I fully happened to underestimate the terror I would endure though only as a prickly pear of my own headspace. Don’t get me wrong, the city itself was all things beautiful and enchanting, utterly romantic in a strange sort of way for those bums the ones who fear nothing but love and make it a grand junction of their hearts’ desire to snipe for cigarette butts on bustling industrial sidewalks.

When I arrived via Greyhound after a 10-hour odd trip crammed on a cushion with my big army-edition backpack, stepping out onto the mounting platform, I spun my soul in streaming curiosity. I am an owl around.

Called up my friend. “Okay Dave I’m here.”

“All right hang tight be there soon,” he said.

Ya right, I was being drawn in every direction, stigmatic ambitions of exploration already run rampant. Thought I’d take a stroll during the interim and find the first café of the stretch. Maybe that’s all I was thirsting for this whole time. Only coffee. But as I made my way down the pleasant stretch with bubbly buildings yawning their necks, introspective, this thin little white Irish dude was chasing a scrap of paper on the crosswalk I was crossing. Guess he kind of swept me up instead.

“Follow me,” he said.

I was basically a monkey freed from its family cage. So, being a dumb fucking monkey, I followed suit with eyes and mouth agape, timid youthful strong hobbles, into the concrete jungle. Oblivious to the point of not even stopping to consider what in God’s hell we’re moving toward?

Told me to follow him yet proceeded without any more words and continued on his path as though alone, like he had a leash loosely slung to me was his power. He leads me into the popular market of that particular block. They happened to have a Starbucks- Hallelujah coffee mission accomplished. I ordered two black coffees while he did some provisional stealing for foodstuffs, skinny Irish man with orange shoulder-length hair complimented own cultural connections with the marketing mermaid on the coffee cups but a single sip after splashed it on the sidewalk grunting “black crack” his bitter distaste. What a waste; at least I had mine still.

An energetic fruit muffin he was, vegan and seeming committed to sobriety but when we eventually take a visit into an immensely more hectic sector, of the city center actually, what with all its bright neon blinking lights, we shall soon be witness to some different, questionable mannerisms. He handled well a strain on certain habits and tendencies obviously attempting to rectify and get in line with the Lord, okay? I wasn’t attracted to him for no reason. Stay tuned for future developments. Pick a star and constellate.

After a bit of exploration, my Guide was feeling giddy inside, once the social stimuli were provided to him by all those city-kin passerby. Hobos make a hobby out of harassment, but master the craft so well that people perchance might even cough up a dollar.

Eventually we settled in together, on what appeared to be the porch of an abandoned leasing office. A small structure with an open fence and vacant so he took up home on the front steps. There was a small shelf, with a few random pieces of literature, a desk and swivel chair. Apart from that only a sleeping bag and wouldn’t we glory in minimalism. Comfortable, humble.