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Wednesday, June 01, 2016

Brains

Temperatures jumped to extreme levels very quickly at the end of May, so it was no surprise that nighttime Sacramento streets were still very active during Bella's walk last night.

I was trying to talk on the cell phone while simultaneously walking Bella, and thus displayed a disturbing lack of situational awareness. We blithely walked into an arrest scene on Broadway. Several cop cars had responded to a break-in at the Used Car Lot's office. The office door was open, a suspect had his hands behind his head, and cops were puzzling over paperwork. Decided to hang up after that.

Further on, we nearly blundered into a homeless person carrying a large pillow. We also passed a balding man putting his shorts on. What was odd about that was the night before we had passed the same balding man putting on his shorts in exactly the same place in exactly the same way. I can still hear the elastic of his waistband snap against his skin. Yeah, it's a real Twilight Zone at night under the Highway 50/16th St. underpass!

Despite my resistance, Bella suddenly dragged me over to investigate a tree next to a late-night Mexican food joint. Geez, it was 1:45 a.m.! This place is still open!

I was suddenly in a neon-lit spotlight directly in front of five men having a late-night meal. An awkward silence ensued. "Nice shirt," one man ventured. I was wearing Chandra's "Yeah Bitch - Magnets!" T-Shirt of "Breaking Bad" fame. Everyone loves that shirt, so I did an awkward catwalk turn while Bella tried to investigate the opposite side of the tree. "How's the food?" I asked. "It's borderline," the man replied. I found this reply ambiguous. "You mean it's from the border?" I pressed. The man replied with a waffling hand motion indicating the food was barely acceptable. I started telling a story about Nogales, Sonora, where I didn't understand a menu item, asked for a translation, which turned out to be brains. "Brains are good," the man replied. "98% fat!"

Satisfied with the tree, Bella dragged me away....

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