(no subject)
moments after i told my housemate, lucas, that i wanted to start writing about moments and interactions in my life again: this gem fell from the sky.
i am standing on Haight, waiting for the 71. a man kind of stumble-strides up to the girls standing to my left, then asks them for a cigarette. this is not uncommon in the big city, so i barely notice. they provide him with a cigarette -- and then he notices me. he pushes past the girls with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"do you have a light?"
"no. sure don't. i don't smoke."
"me either," he says as he plucks a pack of matches from his pocket and lights the cigarette.
this man is standing close to me, maybe a foot away, looking me dead in the face. he's leaning against a light post in what i'm sure he perceived to be a nonchalant way. he was, however, very much inside my bubble. i glance at him in a sideways sort of way -- not wanting to seem like i'm afraid of him [i'm not], but not wanting to look at this dude either, really. he's kind of an average looking man. shaved hair, brown. eyes, they're blue. i find myself focusing on his teeth. they're straight, and have little gaps between them. what i do not notice is this -- his pants have, at this point, fallen down. they are hanging out around mid-calves. he has on a long white t-shirt, so nothing is visible but his skinny, knobby knees. amazingly enough, this man just keeps talking.
"so you don't smoke anything? cigarettes? weed?"
"nope. not anymore," i say, still clearly trying to end the coversation with the pants-less man.
"you don't smoke like tobasco sauce or mcdonalds or anything?"
"uh...no."
"have you seen my slippers?"
"no."
"me either."
"that's unfortunate."
this man is talking crazy. i start focusing on a spot in the road in the distance. he doesn't seem incredibly fucked up, maybe a little bit. but i've done a whole fuckload of drugs in my time, and i never approached someone on the street, lost my pants, and then asked them if they smoked tobasco sauce or mcdonalds. at this point in the conversation, out of my peripherial vision, i see him grab hold of his pants and yank them up to his chest. i'm talking way the fuck up. when i looked back, they were settled in a normal pants-wearing position. he then makes a move to walk away, and leans in really close before leaving me with a few parting words.
"are you a boy or a girl?"
this leaves me bewildered. ok. so. i have a few options here. i can say girl -- which feels gross and does not appear to be the truth at all. i can say boy -- but that doesn't always appear to be the case either. i really don't want to have a trans conversation with this crazy man. as i'm wracking my brain to figure out what to tell this man, he hits his cigarette and leans even closer.
"just say both."
and i say, "pretty much."
and he parades away in ankle cut white socks, no shoes. no coat.
what. the. fuck?
i am standing on Haight, waiting for the 71. a man kind of stumble-strides up to the girls standing to my left, then asks them for a cigarette. this is not uncommon in the big city, so i barely notice. they provide him with a cigarette -- and then he notices me. he pushes past the girls with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"do you have a light?"
"no. sure don't. i don't smoke."
"me either," he says as he plucks a pack of matches from his pocket and lights the cigarette.
this man is standing close to me, maybe a foot away, looking me dead in the face. he's leaning against a light post in what i'm sure he perceived to be a nonchalant way. he was, however, very much inside my bubble. i glance at him in a sideways sort of way -- not wanting to seem like i'm afraid of him [i'm not], but not wanting to look at this dude either, really. he's kind of an average looking man. shaved hair, brown. eyes, they're blue. i find myself focusing on his teeth. they're straight, and have little gaps between them. what i do not notice is this -- his pants have, at this point, fallen down. they are hanging out around mid-calves. he has on a long white t-shirt, so nothing is visible but his skinny, knobby knees. amazingly enough, this man just keeps talking.
"so you don't smoke anything? cigarettes? weed?"
"nope. not anymore," i say, still clearly trying to end the coversation with the pants-less man.
"you don't smoke like tobasco sauce or mcdonalds or anything?"
"uh...no."
"have you seen my slippers?"
"no."
"me either."
"that's unfortunate."
this man is talking crazy. i start focusing on a spot in the road in the distance. he doesn't seem incredibly fucked up, maybe a little bit. but i've done a whole fuckload of drugs in my time, and i never approached someone on the street, lost my pants, and then asked them if they smoked tobasco sauce or mcdonalds. at this point in the conversation, out of my peripherial vision, i see him grab hold of his pants and yank them up to his chest. i'm talking way the fuck up. when i looked back, they were settled in a normal pants-wearing position. he then makes a move to walk away, and leans in really close before leaving me with a few parting words.
"are you a boy or a girl?"
this leaves me bewildered. ok. so. i have a few options here. i can say girl -- which feels gross and does not appear to be the truth at all. i can say boy -- but that doesn't always appear to be the case either. i really don't want to have a trans conversation with this crazy man. as i'm wracking my brain to figure out what to tell this man, he hits his cigarette and leans even closer.
"just say both."
and i say, "pretty much."
and he parades away in ankle cut white socks, no shoes. no coat.
what. the. fuck?