San Francisco, A City Distressed
An excerpt from " Beyond Real -
Where the Sidewalk Ends",
The Big, Bad, Version!
Bert’s fine tuned instincts were on alert. He watched the tide of
the City. In the mix of suits, street urchins, vendors, pan-
handlers, and the average Joes, the street theatre was
everywhere; the corner musician, the shoe shine guy, the
silver guy, the deranged talking to themselves, God, and to
anyone. Later, the velocity would increase; there would be
impromptu psychodrama, raging night crawlers, harmless and
not so harmless drunkards, aspiring and achieving deadbeats
of every sort. They would be there, in every race, sex, taste
and age. All kinds of aberrant behavior would be on display.
The velocity and spin only slightly diminished with the random
use of an I-phone or texting on a Blackberry. Communication
of some kind was constant.
An excerpt from " Beyond Real -
Where the Sidewalk Ends",
The Big, Bad, Version!
Bert’s fine tuned instincts were on alert. He watched the tide of
the City. In the mix of suits, street urchins, vendors, pan-
handlers, and the average Joes, the street theatre was
everywhere; the corner musician, the shoe shine guy, the
silver guy, the deranged talking to themselves, God, and to
anyone. Later, the velocity would increase; there would be
impromptu psychodrama, raging night crawlers, harmless and
not so harmless drunkards, aspiring and achieving deadbeats
of every sort. They would be there, in every race, sex, taste
and age. All kinds of aberrant behavior would be on display.
The velocity and spin only slightly diminished with the random
use of an I-phone or texting on a Blackberry. Communication
of some kind was constant.
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Bert’s contact was what some
termed a local crazy. Sam was one
of the homeless; a bearded, tired
and dirty looking man of about
Bert’s age, although appearing
decades older. Sam often seemed
disoriented, with rare periods of
lucidity. It was tough using him as
a reliable source. Sam was also a
Drunkard. He was said to have
been institutionalized some time
back, after a breakdown and a side
order of manic behavior. That was
until the government program ran
out of funds and was eventually
shut down. Sam and many others
were casualties, the walking
wounded. Bert had tried to get
Sam a bed in a shelter and back
into a program. But Sam refused.
“Not again”, was all he said.
Sam lived on the street. He slept at
the base of a freeway overpass, in
an alcove between a chain link
fence and a cement freeway
support, with the roaring sounds
of traffic all around. His
belongings filled a shopping cart,
covered with plastic trash bags to
guard against theft and the rain. In
the cart were a cooler, books, a
few belongings and some clothes.
Sam guarded his stuff, especially
the cooler. His entire life was
reduced to the memories
contained in a 42 gallon Coleman
Cooler, stained with age and the
aroma of mildew. No one knew the
sentiment he held onto with his
photographs and memorabilia.
Tonight, as most nights, Sam
would be seen in his sleeping bag
ignoring the passersby. If lucid,
ironically, he’d be reading a novel
as he sipped a beverage held in a
brown paper bag. That was
tonight, today Sam was lucid. Bert
greeted his source, passing him
three twenties and a new paper
back novel. They pulled up a wall
and were soon in deep
discussion…
Follow the link to preview this
Big, Bad book:
termed a local crazy. Sam was one
of the homeless; a bearded, tired
and dirty looking man of about
Bert’s age, although appearing
decades older. Sam often seemed
disoriented, with rare periods of
lucidity. It was tough using him as
a reliable source. Sam was also a
Drunkard. He was said to have
been institutionalized some time
back, after a breakdown and a side
order of manic behavior. That was
until the government program ran
out of funds and was eventually
shut down. Sam and many others
were casualties, the walking
wounded. Bert had tried to get
Sam a bed in a shelter and back
into a program. But Sam refused.
“Not again”, was all he said.
Sam lived on the street. He slept at
the base of a freeway overpass, in
an alcove between a chain link
fence and a cement freeway
support, with the roaring sounds
of traffic all around. His
belongings filled a shopping cart,
covered with plastic trash bags to
guard against theft and the rain. In
the cart were a cooler, books, a
few belongings and some clothes.
Sam guarded his stuff, especially
the cooler. His entire life was
reduced to the memories
contained in a 42 gallon Coleman
Cooler, stained with age and the
aroma of mildew. No one knew the
sentiment he held onto with his
photographs and memorabilia.
Tonight, as most nights, Sam
would be seen in his sleeping bag
ignoring the passersby. If lucid,
ironically, he’d be reading a novel
as he sipped a beverage held in a
brown paper bag. That was
tonight, today Sam was lucid. Bert
greeted his source, passing him
three twenties and a new paper
back novel. They pulled up a wall
and were soon in deep
discussion…
Follow the link to preview this
Big, Bad book:
Copyright 2006-2010
The Mannequin Chronicles -
The original mannequin art,
before the imitators, before...
Accept no cheap imitations!
Bert looked for his contact. His information source was late, as was expected. Bert was
left to his own thoughts as he waited, watching the stream of people who made up this
portion of the City.
Would his City bleed out? The budget cuts, the service cuts, unemployment,
foreclosures, boarded up houses, lower tax base and infrastructure rot, all pointed to
an even greater downward spiral. Was this a metropolis on the verge of a nervous
breakdown?
Bert pondered this city, his City, in distress. He could not see down the road of time, but
he could see what was in front of him. He saw his contact pass an overflowing trash
can; the can spilling fast food wrappers and other tossed remnants of humanity, and
emitting the feral aroma of having been recently used as a urinal.
left to his own thoughts as he waited, watching the stream of people who made up this
portion of the City.
Would his City bleed out? The budget cuts, the service cuts, unemployment,
foreclosures, boarded up houses, lower tax base and infrastructure rot, all pointed to
an even greater downward spiral. Was this a metropolis on the verge of a nervous
breakdown?
Bert pondered this city, his City, in distress. He could not see down the road of time, but
he could see what was in front of him. He saw his contact pass an overflowing trash
can; the can spilling fast food wrappers and other tossed remnants of humanity, and
emitting the feral aroma of having been recently used as a urinal.
