« Dumbass quote of the day. | Main | Wedding dance workshop. »
July 30, 2007
Marvelous posture.
Rolling down 18th Street, through the heart of the Castro at about 7:15 p.m. It was a pleasant summer evening; the fog brought the temps down into the mid-fifties and bent the fading light in weird ways. Passing the cheery storefronts under a uniform, diffuse glow, it felt very much like driving across a studio soundstage.
At the corner of Castro & 18th, I saw a bearded white man in his forties wearing a T-shirt beneath a tattered blazer and a pair of jeans. He sat in a wooden cafe chair, his legs crossed in a classic figure-four. His hands were folded in his lap as he looked serenely into the middle distance.
His chair perfectly straddled the yellow line in the center of 18th Street.
While stopped at the light, I mastered the urge to stare. Wouldn't want to make him feel self-conscious, I thought. Instead, I turned down the radio and kept my eyes forward. As I drove away, I heard a horn or two blare behind me.
Posted by Your Protagonist at July 30, 2007 10:34 AM