This is a sweltering desert town where the temperature is on low broil setting.
Ramblings while on a slow suburban death.
Ramblings while on a slow suburban death.
I saw, I wrote.
This is a sweltering desert town where the temperature is on low broil setting.
Our softball team of the Richmond District and Rossi Playground played in the championship game of the summer CYO league.
I bid adieu to the cold toilet seats in the bleachers, the outfield fence, the malted vendor of long ago that used to wear eyeglass frames without lenses and the one night my friends wandered the parking lot, lost inside a thick fog.
I got used to the antiseptic smell and the hovering sickness of the hospital as well as any teenager did, confronting subjects of life and death after my father had a massive heart attack when I was 15.
Bertha and I seemed live on trains in Japan, moving in little circles around the Kansai areas of Kyoto, Maibara and Nara, inciting small children to cause trouble while making plenty of our own.
Although I was never an official card carrying member of Berkeley Farm’s 49er Minor Club, I always managed to sit in that far end zone section during those lean years when our boys were a doormat for the rest of the NFC West.
http://keithklassen.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/monoploy-houses.jpg
It was very odd that on a weekday morning, I would hear loud ranchero music blaring from an AM station playing in my neighbor’s yard. This same scene would play out every morning for the next three days as a few members of the very inexpensive labor force placed a new roof over my neighbor’s home.
I was born a druid in Bertoxxulus, swift of foot and adept at every combat and magical arts.
On the occasion of the San Francisco Giants’ first Japanese American Day at Candlestick Park, both the Rokushige Fujima Dance Troupe and the San Francisco Taiko Dojo were asked to provide the pre-game entertainment.