I had nothing better to do. Sunday mass is five hours away, I've already exhausted the last few episodes of NCIS early this morning after Jeff flaked out and my errand at Walgreens has been concluded. Walked a mile for that.
As for cooking, all that much effort wasn't gonna yield consistent results and I couldn't blast away with abandon and mess in someone's kitchen so scratch that. I gravitate to Upper Haight again. The chicken fajita quesadilla at La Rosa needed a walk until Italian Gelato beckoned at Cafe Cantata. I should be able to exhaust all dining possibilities in this strip within my month's reprieve.
With a scoop of espresso, I parked my ass at the bar facing the street, watching people pass by as strains from a street jazz musician's sax wafted in the background. Mr. Smooth is a regular at Belvedere corner Haight, that much I gathered after walking these streets on weekends.
This was much better and more relaxed than New Orleans. If only I could learn to relax more. With my reckoning only 2 days from now, it is extra difficult, perhaps after. Then I can take things in stride, find something around the area nearer to work and really take it down a notch. While I decide what needs to be done.
The gelato was quite good, and between perusing Sanfo's declining film industry and the conflict surrounding the impending Americas Cup, I felt the need for a Marilyn Monroe - house blend with white chocolate.
People pass, come and go. Tourists like me, with their cameras, rapt faces turning here and there, families in strollers with their parents and their backpacks. The homeless hippie has gone down the street back and forth 3 times in the last hour with nary a dent on the cache of peace and all that crap button pins he was selling. Maybe if he sold a few tokes with it. Three gothic chicks congregate in a corner across the street, staring into nothing and smoking their cigarettes, hardly carrying a conversation. The book shop with little handwritten colored notes tucked in recommending them is just 8 steps away but I was saving that for last.
I think about my boots then realize Spring is literally around the corner. Forget it. Thoughts of Torrance bubble. Not right now. I try to conjure faces of lovers past. Nope. Doesn't work. Everyhings pales beyond my anxiety it seems. I need to do yoga. Maybe that will help.
As for cooking, all that much effort wasn't gonna yield consistent results and I couldn't blast away with abandon and mess in someone's kitchen so scratch that. I gravitate to Upper Haight again. The chicken fajita quesadilla at La Rosa needed a walk until Italian Gelato beckoned at Cafe Cantata. I should be able to exhaust all dining possibilities in this strip within my month's reprieve.
With a scoop of espresso, I parked my ass at the bar facing the street, watching people pass by as strains from a street jazz musician's sax wafted in the background. Mr. Smooth is a regular at Belvedere corner Haight, that much I gathered after walking these streets on weekends.
This was much better and more relaxed than New Orleans. If only I could learn to relax more. With my reckoning only 2 days from now, it is extra difficult, perhaps after. Then I can take things in stride, find something around the area nearer to work and really take it down a notch. While I decide what needs to be done.
The gelato was quite good, and between perusing Sanfo's declining film industry and the conflict surrounding the impending Americas Cup, I felt the need for a Marilyn Monroe - house blend with white chocolate.
People pass, come and go. Tourists like me, with their cameras, rapt faces turning here and there, families in strollers with their parents and their backpacks. The homeless hippie has gone down the street back and forth 3 times in the last hour with nary a dent on the cache of peace and all that crap button pins he was selling. Maybe if he sold a few tokes with it. Three gothic chicks congregate in a corner across the street, staring into nothing and smoking their cigarettes, hardly carrying a conversation. The book shop with little handwritten colored notes tucked in recommending them is just 8 steps away but I was saving that for last.
I think about my boots then realize Spring is literally around the corner. Forget it. Thoughts of Torrance bubble. Not right now. I try to conjure faces of lovers past. Nope. Doesn't work. Everyhings pales beyond my anxiety it seems. I need to do yoga. Maybe that will help.
