Monday, August 08, 2016

Nirvana on Nineteenth Street

Every night, Bella has been making a beeline for the Safeway Supermarket parking lot, where much food can be found. Nirvana on Nineteenth Street!

On Thursday night, the Delta Breeze roared in remarkably cold and strong from San Francisco Bay. The surprised, night-dwelling folks in front of Safeway blamed government weather control for the unexpected weather.

The Friday night theme was: Missed Connections.

Uber or Lyft? There was a quarrel in front of Pour House on Q Street. A woman in front of the club was shouting "Lyft?" out the passenger-side window of her vehicle. A man on the sidewalk answered "Uber?" The woman elaborated "Someone here ordered a Lyft." Another woman on the sidewalk proclaimed "I had a friend order me a ride, but I don't know whether it was Uber or Lyft, and I'm not going to get in a car with a stranger if you can't tell me who placed the order." The driver apparently couldn't comply with that request. So, the standoff continued. Bella and I walked away.

After we turned right down 20th Street, about 2 a.m., we found a purse on the side of the sidewalk between Q Street and the light rail overpass. It's a bit dark there, and not that far away from several nightclubs - a convenient place for a thief to rifle through a stolen purse and toss the undesired remnants away. The purse had no money or credit cards, but was full of ID. The owner is a Yuba Community College student, and I taught there in 2014, so I can connect eventually, but not on the weekend. I know, it's uncomfortable to be without your ID, and I hope she can wait. If all else fails, I suppose I could try to locate her residence, but it's 40 miles away, I might miss her, and there are 2 possible addresses. No phone number either, or Facebook contact, or discoverable contact on Google. As my friend Jonathan says, "Is it not amazing with all the various ways we have invented to talk to each other it is now damn near impossible to actually do that?"

I somehow injured my strong right ankle walking from the bed to the bathroom at 7 a.m. Saturday morning. I wasn't able to find my cane (last time I used it was in 2009), so I borrowed one from Joe the Plumber. I worried about walking with a cane. It might signify weakness on the street - an undesirable quality. As it turned out, it made me "safe" and easier for people to approach. But it also meant I walked much more slowly than usual, to Bella's great exasperation.

The Saturday night theme was: Da Fuq?

Walking on Broadway at 20th St., a frustrated, elderly black man approached and asked "What's going on? Tower Liquor on 16th is closed, and C&B Liquor is closed too." I was surprised. I replied, "It's not even 1 a.m. yet. Why would they be closed?" Further on, at 19th, two men in their late 20's approached and one said "All the liquor places on 19th Street are closed." I informed them that the liquor places on Broadway were closed too. Something had to be going on. It was like the Apocalypse, or something. How could the entire neighborhood run out of liquor on a Saturday night? Sacramento residents are tough, and ready for any contingency, but not for something like this. I told him, "You'll have to go home, get in a car, and drive somewhere else for liquor." Clenching his jaw with resolve, the man said "I might do just that!"

The ankle issue lasted just one day. I recycled all the expired medication in my house last month, so I had no medication left in the house, but I got some of that wonder drug, aspirin, and it did done wonders! Sunday night, I was back to normal.

The Sunday night theme was: Wonder!

Someone abandoned a big catalog of wall coverings outside of Safeway on Sunday night. It was as if they were overwhelmed by all the possible choices of wallpaper, despaired, and left.

We discovered an astonishing thing too. There is a small colony of bats in Midtown. Bella and I watched one or two dozen squeaking bats leave their home and travel a tiny distance to a bright street light to scoop up flying insects. How convenient! I was amazed how the accidental architecture of the place was perfectly designed for the happiness and health of bats.

Bella and I looped back through the 24th Street freeway underpass, where someone was loudly singing. I'm surprised I haven't heard singing under the freeway before. The acoustics there are great for voices loud enough to overcome traffic noise. I couldn't make out if the song was a rap song, or an improvised drinking song, or a string of epithets imaginatively strung together. As we approached, the man retreated from the underpass to a nearby apartment. I guess he goes there for stress relief. Damn, I should have thought of that! I wonder if I can get Bella to howl there?

Approaching home, there was an unexpected shuffling of cardboard in an otherwise quiet corner. An older, bald-headed man was making a bed for the night.

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