I met one of my neighbors today. Not one of the ever-ephemeral loft dwellers across the street, but the gentleman right around the corner. The one who’s been here 70 years. In this neighborhood. In the same building. In fact, one of his kids once lived in my buidling…
What must it be like for a man to have watched all the changes South of Market since the 1930s, and from the very midst of the neighborhood yet? There can’t be too many others around. With only nine years under my belt I feel like I’ve been living here longer than a good chunk of my neighbors…
I think I may have to talk to him more often. Besides, I fell in love with his dog…
Anyway, it’s hotter than hell in my apartment and I can’t open my windows because of the painters. The whole building’s turning a rather putrid shade of Pepto-Bismol pink, but that’s apparently just the primer. I’m glad it’s eventually going away, although I must say it’s very soothing to the stomach…
BerkeleyBreathed.com on the monitor and Young Frankestein on the TV, which now has much-enhanced audio…
