Walking in my neighborhood several blocks away along the same street, I have a flashback to 2007 where I would do things like move poorly parked motorcycles into half parking spots behind buses. I would think “he should be thankful”
A poster of four ships in port, all facing out. Isometric view and close-in cityscape. It feels familiar, though I can’t specify how. Analogized as a model for all posters with any four things receding into the distance, regarded as saccharine.
I’m inspecting merchandise in a small dead-end town, the end of a long road, during their annual event — a Bay Area tradition (like Port Costa’s town-wide yard sale). I inspect a standing fan and carefully consider it for our apartment. I take off its head from the bulky base stem and consider how to pack it on my motorcycle. I reconsider and try to put it back, though it’s fussy and I give up, chagrined.
I pick up a pair of binoculars laying on the table. They’re better and clearer than my pair at home. I can see across the narrow bay channel to Russia (it must be Russia — but where?) at the many people playing in the water. There’s one tough guy I can see walking toward me, wearing a fur hat, stomping around the waters with the many other Russians and Russian children. Because of the binoculars I get the impression he’s much closer, along with the feeling he could see me. I have to consciously overcome this sensation. I put the binoculars back.
At another table I notice some very distinctive drinking gourds, the kind you drink yerba mate out of. I recognize them from a quirky little stand in San Francisco that sits in a private park outside a fancy mall (maybe in SOMA). I recall, not long ago, walking through an under construction passageway under the awnings of that mall. I had made my way toward the side entrance, construction workers having put up another temporary fence corridor between the entrance and the stand — absent-mindedly blocking access from my passageway. I had righteously knocked over the fence, for its disregard of proper safety and egress practices. That was the last time I was near there.
Along with the Yerba Monte gourds from that stand, I see a distinctive collection of cheapo pocket pussies, also sold there and quite distinctive. I deduce (with a degree of certainty) that the shop must be closed now, and the locals selling at the yard sale must’ve been employed there. Hmm… vaguely disappointed and would appreciate more information on why and when the store closed.
I want to take a picture, check against some references, but there’s an update on my phone. The new interface is poorly designed, with sections labeled “not ok”… which I have to work out is actually a button, not a notification, and it’s meant to light up if something was indeed not ok. Terrible design. I have to restart my phone, and it’s a fucky process that takes much too long. By the time the phone is restarted, the table has been cleared off. There’s a musical performance happening after the yard sale, as is traditional. Typically I prefer to have left by then, what with the massive influx of cars parking for it. One of the locals is nearby setting up for the performance, and I ask him about the gourds and pocket pussies. He goes inside a building to see if he can holler at the guys and get them to help with my questions. But he also agrees that he wouldn’t want to be parked here still, with the coming onslaught.