Few Minutes
Friday. Fog last night and early this morning, the sun coming out now, the air cool, breakfast at the usual place with a run after to Safeway for cereal and cat food. Always the cat food. You'd suggest (I know you'd suggest) that I buy cat food in larger quantities and you're right, except I'm never sure she'll eat what I'm buying. Yes, I leave it out for longer periods when she eats half of it and then leaves the rest untouched. With time, I discover, she discovers I'm not going to budge and decides to finish it without apparent issue. You can't train a cat, but a cat can train you I'm afraid. Life in the fast lane, faster and faster.
The Carnaval parade, this Sunday. One of the better opportunities to find the kind of photographs I like. Everyone is preparing for the parade, no one pays attention to the many photographers, there are too many of them and it's not worth an effort to escape and so this creates a sea of unaware of the camera expressions on the faces of women who are acting out their dream of dancing naked through the streets of San Francisco. Or something like that.
Later. For whatever reason I've not done much since morning, a passing thought to take a bus downtown for lunch, another thought to drive down to Jack London Square later when the meters aren't enforced and wander through the area with a camera. What to eat? For whatever reason I've been hungry all day, even after a reasonably large breakfast, and the thought of chicken or something similar appealing. Maybe the stomach continues in a good direction.
I did make it to Roy's last night and had a couple of Guinness with Mr. E, the two glasses of Guinness going down without a problem. Which is good. Home after eight stopping on the way for an ice cream sandwich, a decent end to an evening. Nothing on television, of course, no thought to watch the one last remaining Netflix DVD sitting on the player, a 1961 Japanese version of Foyodor Dostoyevsky's The Idiot including, among other actors, Toshiro Mifune.
The high today seventy-two, the humidity 60%, the current temperature sixty-four, the early fog gone by about nine, the brain verging on stun. Up and down, this “verging on stun”. Nothing to worry about, I'm guessing. A walk around Jack London Square later may well clear it up, but for now the brain and the body are melting into the apartment; the weasels in the walls jabbering about something, it's hard to tell with the weasels anymore; Ms. Emmy yorking her cookies just now on the carpet (I can't say she fakes not liking these various cat food brands and flavors, I just with she'd be consistent); maybe go down and check to see if the mail has arrived, see what they're saying on the news when it comes on in another few minutes.
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