It was sunny and summerry, so lots of ladies on Telegraph Ave were wearing lots of skin and not much else, which makes for a nice day indeed.

There were no other vendors on the block, though, so when it came time to pee there was no-one to watch my table. A problem I’ve never had before. To pee, I had to disassemble the entire fish table, bungee it all to the cart, and roll it with me into the john at People’s Park. Then, bladder empty, I rolled back to the Ave and set everything up again. It took about fifteen minutes.

♦ ♦ ♦  

Thought I was getting sick again by the end of the day, and came home feeling fevered. Even after a cold shower, I’m still really hot. Caught a glimpse of me in the mirror, though, and I’m not sick, only sunburned. I’m bright pink, with tender, baked, flaky skin under my fresh cut quarter-inch beard.

Two cans of beans for dinner led to four trips to the toilet during the night, but that’s to be expected. So I’m delighted to say that I think I’m done being sick. I don’t even mind being sunburned. It’s simply wonderful to be almost healthy again.

♦ ♦ ♦  

PS. A story I almost forgot to tell: On Telegraph today, as sometimes happens when I’m in a good mood, me and some strangers on the sidewalk engaged in silly banter, and in a conversation with a middle-aged man, the topic turned to sex.He asked a philosophical question, “Would you rather have no chance for sex in the future but great memories of sex in the past, or would you rather have great sex in your future but give up your memories of all the women?”

“All the women” isn’t many for me, but that’s a very odd question, I thought, especially since it neatly approximates my own past and prospects.

“I’d rather have the memories,” I said. “The memories get better and better with time, but the real thing gets worse and worse.”

Pathetic Life
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our 71st weekly open mike

Let’s see what happens when your host (me) has nothing to say. Step right up, speak your mind, tell a story, sing a song, whatever.

3/14/2026

Anything goes

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“Can I borrow 50¢, please?”

There’s one Berkeley bum who uses that line a lot. Always he says please, and puts the tiniest extra emphasis on ‘borrow’, as if anyone believes it’s a loan.

Usually I’m stingy and cheap, but a few times I’ve said yeah and handed him a few quarters.

And there he was again, standing at the corner in front of Walgreens. Across the parking lot I could hear him saying his familiar line to an old couple, and they ignored him of course, and walked into the store.

I wasn’t in a good mood, and had already decided I wasn’t giving that bum the 50¢ I knew he’d be asking for. Why I’d ever given him anything is a mystery, but he wears a fraction of a smile and a hopeful look and sometimes it’s cracked my uncaring urban armor.

Not today, though. I steeled my defenses. He wasn’t getting a dime out of me. I only had four dollars in my wallet, barely enough for the groceries I needed, and anyway, I am poor, damn it.

As I approached the store’s door, the bum pulled his hand out of his pocket, the literal enactment of hoping for a handout. I looked the other way and waited for the words, but they were what I’d expected.

“This is for you, mister,” he said, and I noticed there were two dollar bills in his hand. “For me?” I asked, trying to figure out what scam he was pulling.

“Yeah, for helping me out when I needed it, man. Four times you’ve given me 50¢.”

Wordless, I gradually grokked that he was repaying the ‘loans’. Does this guy keep a ledger? It’s probably a calculated part of his routine, and I’m supposed to refuse the two dollars. Like I said, though, I’m poor. Also, not proud. I needed the money almost as much as he did, so I took the cash, stuffed it into my pocket and added, “Thanks.”

He’d probably complain, I thought. His whole ploy was supposed to get money out of me, right?
But instead he said, “Don’t be thanking me,” either sincerely or as a well-delivered part of the pitch. “I be thanking you, for helping when I was broke.”

Past tense? Like, you aren’t broke now? But I didn’t say anything, only nodded, and walked into the store. With the extra two bucks, I treated myself to a can of Nine Lives and a small jar of mayonnaise, in addition to the ramen and cheap bread I’d come for. Yeah, I’d be eating good tonight.

The bum was still there when I came out, so I handed him two quarters. Call it a karma investment. And I smiled at him, and it felt like a genuine smile.

Pathetic Life
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