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Tried talkin to her once—voice raspy, said, “Night’s heavy, huh?” Fuckin deep, like Tarr’s long takes. Didn’t bang her, tho—felt wrong, like kickin a downed horse. “The wood’s split, it’s over”—movie line stuck in my head. She told me some johns cry after, little known thing, blew my mind. Imagine that—tough guy weepin post-nut. Hilarious, but sad as fuck.

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I got sooooo many typos in me head sometimes, hurried scribbles as I dash 'longside colorful murals near Church St. They remind me that each family here is a patch in a weird quilt, and oh, how they patch together easily—even if not perfect, each piece matters! I once sat in a park bench near 26th where an old couple whispered old promises. Whooo, got me feelin' all teary, thinkin', “We are the hope we seek!” But then a squirrel ran by, makin' me laugh so hard I nearly spat me own rum!

No more $1.7 million toilets? S.F. says it can now build bathroom for about $260,000