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"You won't believe how good,
how fast, how cheap."

Don't accuse me of being optimistic or anything, but it feels like my immediate money worries are over.

Jay is still arguing or 'negotiating' with City Hall to get Darwin fish back on the fish stand, and I told her that'll never happen. You can't win an argument with those schmucks. 

Darwin or no Darwin, though, she wants me to sell fish on Telegraph every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday through the winter. She asked me to sell fish on Mondays too, but on Mondays I work at the smut magazine, which might eventually blossom into more than one day's work a week.

So just with steady gigs, I'll be working four days, 25 or so hours weekly. If the phone rings for "anything legal" work just a few times a month, that ought to be money enough to keep me eating unhealthy food.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

Sometimes it's nice to look at life through the windows of a bus, so I packed three sandwiches and six Twinkies, then walked to the bus stop and rode off into the sunrise.

In San Francisco I rode Muni everywhere, and got to know those buses, but this is Alameda County, a different system I haven't ridden much. Time for an excursion.

Alameda's #6 bus took me on a round trip to Oakland, and there were side trips on the #14 to Brookdale and the #33 to Webster. With no destination except looking out the window, I was already there, and stayed there, while the world out the window whizzed past.

That's the way of life. We're all looking out our eyeball windows, occasionally ringing the bell, stepping off and wandering around. Fat boy gets philosophical!

The buses took me through some of the neighborhoods Oakland is famous for — tough places, with boarded up businesses, cars up on blocks, big barking pit bulls, and hoodlums wearing hoods huddled with other hoodlums in hoods to transact hoodlum business. I walked around for a while, and it was blacker than my old neighborhood in San Francisco, but not tougher.

Oakland also has neighborhoods with fine old homes and upscale shops and all the amenities that make me feel unwelcome. In that part of town, I shivered and stayed in my seat.

Saw some restaurants and bakeries that look cheap and good. Hey, put a sign in your window telling me about dollar tacos on Tuesdays, chances are you'll see me next Tuesday. 

Saw thousands and thousands of houses, and some were nicely painted, and some needed a coat like the bums in winter. Some had slightly tilted porches, some were in ruins, some were newish. Some looked warm and homey, some said trespassers would be shot.

I don't know anyone in Oakland, really, but knowing humans, it's fair to predict that almost everyone who lives in any of those houses, poor, rich, or in between, black or white or other, they're all assholes. Same as anywhere else.

Some of the houses had 'for sale or rent' signs, but I'm not looking. Looking out the window is all I'm doing, but I'm happy where I'm at, living with Judith and her menagerie of misfits.

Amazingly, none of them seem to be assholes. Couple of days ago I talked to my flatmate down the hall, Cy, for maybe two whole minutes, and never once wanted to slug him, so it's the happiest home I've known in years.

Riding back to that house in Berkeley, one last detour. I rang the bell to get off, and walked into Jonah's. I'd noticed the place on my outbound ride, because it has a big poster in the window that says, "You won't believe how good, how fast, how cheap." The sign doesn't say what's going to be so good, so fast, so cheap, but there's a picture of a hamburger. Sold.

They wanted $2.50 for a good-sized burger in a bag with french fries, which they pretend is a meal. Ha! I bought three bags of burgers and fries and brought them home, said hi to Judith and Cy, then microwaved the bags all hot again and ate alone in my room, while one of the cats watched.

Sadly I must report that the sign at Jonah's is a blatant lie. The burgers are good, fast, and cheap, absolutely, but I was there and ate 'em so I believe it.

♦ ♦ ♦ 

As you can guess from reading this, I didn't feel like writing today. My rule, though, is that I have to write something every day, so maybe it sucks but my work here is done.

From Pathetic Life #16
Wednesday, September 27, 1995

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.

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