Scenes From Berkeley

Some of the millions of wireless signals I can pick up from the cafe where I'm working downtown include:

We Will Share
Black Omen
Nuttin But Soyoung
Green Weasel
Hot Bunz
Le Pud Palace
Berkeley Adventure
Rockin Pad

and my favorite...

Spank House North
(Kicks the shit out of Spank House South.)

Some guy with John Lennon glasses and a Manchester-in-the-60's Monkees haircut outside just tied up his dog to a parking meter (or in Berkeley-speak "safety-tethered his canine companion to a fascist symbol of unfair taxation on Earth-slaughtering non-bicycle transit mechanisms"), and then came back with water for him, and a blanket. And a scone. Then a super-hippie girl I recognize from High School walked in stoned with a giant hickey on her neck, and loudly annouced she wasn't buying anything but rather just came to get a napkin with which to blow her nose. She blew her nose and then left, passing an incoming lesbian with a mohawk and a vintage bowling shirt I covet. And then a three-legged dog outside the cafe barked at a passing college student, and his beautiful Native American owner ("friend / human guide") who was at the time reading "The Answer Within: A Clinical Framework of Ericksonian Hypnotherapy" didn't scold him but rather talked soothing words to him about chi and peace.

If I wrote any of this shit in a script, no one would believe me.