Monday, November 6, 2006

Fucking San José

Walking in San José is opening a secret door that takes you right back where you were.
Is coming off the field in the Frisbee game, making eye contact and then walking, head down, to my bag, grabbing my water bottle and stretching my sore hamstring while making funny faces.
Is so much damn awkward silence.

Like there should be nearly a million people now standing up and screaming, "THE SOLUTION TO OUR SO-CALLED TRAFFIC PROBLEM IS NOT THESE MASSIVE FUTURISTIC SLABS OF CONCRETE!!" but there aren't.

I hate the assholes that ride deafeningly-loud motorcycles by my windows while I'm trying to sleep. But sometimes I'd rather hear the splattering of their engines than the eerie, TIE fighter-like sound of cars, which have to rank up there with the most dehumanizing and antisocial creations of humanity.

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