A scurry of goats dip their heads behind the herder as their tin bells clang, hoofs clacking past the lichen-ribboned ruins of colonial hospitals and royal thumbs of ancient cathedrals now disused. Shacks have bloomed in the rubble because they are more necessary. Nicas barter over lumps of goods passed down from the 1st World,…
TT: Hello out there in radio-land! This is the Threadbare Traveler, comin at you raw with this week’s installment of “Head-to-Head.” We’ve got a great panel for you tonight, guys. On my left is Mr. Dark— Mr. Dark: Hullo…great to be here. TT: —and on my right is Mr. Black. Mr. Black: Sup. TT: Tonight…
It’s hard to describe the sound the man was making. It’s as if he was yelling moans, I guess, the way I imagine a retarded demon would sound, but it was interspersed with a kind of infantile babbling. Whatever it sounded like, the man on line at the Burger King was convinced he was actually…
The raging, dreaded hippie kids, swirled in by a technicolored tornado of glee, glitter and hallucinogens, sent by the hippie Goddess to anoint the unblessed with ointments and doses and liquor belted straight from the bottle… “…Chris…Christopher DOY-le…” Chris’ Subaru was slapped on the side of dusty street running along warehouses in the SOMA district…
IN my experience, swans are assholes. Just THE worst. They’re like the pretty girl in high school who knows that she is attractive enough to forego the formalities of socialized ethics, so is just a raging bitch until she enters her twenties and realizes the rules are different out there. The problem is, being swans,…
I looked up from my phone with that scientifically-inexplicable feeling you get when someone is laying their focus on you. There was a lady standing about 5 feet diagonal from me in the direction of Mission Street. Now, I feel it’s pretty rude to assume someone is a prostitute. So I’m just going to say…
Fully cocked, 6 or 7 Olympia brand dollar-beers in, I tipsily swiveled back and forth on my bar stool with temporary abandon. 30 minutes till the end of happy hour, which, at the downtown gay- and homeless-friendly pub, stretched from three to nine. I swiveled again and almost tipped off. I looked up without embarrassment…
Scenes from Yosemite—Part I The hybrid shuttle’s engine whirred down to a hum as it reached Stop #16 outside Yosemite’s Nature Center at Happy Isles. I could see several people already standing over the seated passengers, gripping the overhead rail, and there were more than a dozen people waiting with me at the stop. Room…