San Francisco

Today I walked up California Street and past the Mark Hopkins, and out in front stood a beautiful woman in a gray suit and a dark man wearing a turban. They were smoking cigarettes and talking in the shade. I noticed the woman’s legs. The man’s turban was blue.

Across the street from the Bank of America stood a shirtless man holding a cup and asking for change. His left foot was black with gangrene. Only his right foot was shod. I put several dollars into his cup.

Pigeons searched blindly for food, stabbing at the concrete. A woman was hollering at no one.

Always when we pass this, my wife tells me to look the other way. She tells me she’ll keep my money for me.

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