Ahab On Shore Leave
I’m not sure but I was sitting in Dolores Park and getting drunk on somebody else’s beer, and this stripper wearing a leather bodice came up to me and told me to stop looking at her wistfully. The rain hadn’t started yet. The trees were throwing their leaves all over the place. My legs were killing me from sitting on my ass all day. My back was doing some complaining of its own. I was lying on the steep part of the hill at the back of the park where you can see all the tall buildings downtown, and they were starting to light up out there as evening was inking in the edges of things. I liked looking at the buildings. They reminded me of bingo boards or giant robots with thousands of television sets for eyes. I told the stripper that she was ruining my landscape. I told her to scat. To get the hell away from me. Her face went sour and turned into some kind of pasta dish. She called me a fucknut. I told her to stop stealing my bit and hawked a lugie in her general direction. My heart was filled with rue. She went away. I leaned back, drank down the rest of my beer in one gulp, and looked and looked at the world out there. Being sanguinarily disposed only gets you so far. The sea is calling my name.
