We lean against the bar and look out at the lounge. Pulsating trance beats the walls; pulsating lights beat our eyes. I pour my Jack & Coke down my throat and feel it burn my pores. It's strong. I smile.
Dimly lit faces pass us by. Someone flashes a grin and does a double take at my friend. I don't blame him. My friend is wearing a pretty low-cut, tight outfit tonight.
After the fifth naked guy, the shock of it all began to wear thin.
But it wasn't just Birthday Suits that people ran with at the Bay to Breakers. At this cross-city marathon/costume-party, San Franciscans donned everything from pink genies to garter belts to Viking helmets.
It is on the Embarcadero that I see one of life's beautiful moments.
It's a subtle one. But then again, most of life's beautiful moments are subtle.
I was doing 50 mph on the 101 when the little car sped past me. There was a slippery sheen of rainwater on the highway and I was keeping pace with two other cars next to me. The little car poked through us and raced on ahead.
I normally would be doing the same speed it was, but with this rain, I didn't want to risk it. "That driver is nuts," I told myself as it weaved through us.
I'm a commuter again. It's an almost-two-hour trip (one way) that I make with sleepy half-closed eyes and a yawning mouth.
This adventure of mine began when I moved back into San Francisco. I work in the South Bay area and lived down there during my first year of employment.
I didn't really have a destination; it was just a casual journey with wind in my face, music in my ears, and speed at my hands. It was great.
But it didn't feel complete.
2001 was the year Life tore a gash and poured salt and lemon juice into the wound.
Is there anyone who isn't happy to see this sorry year end?
I was all ready to move to Los Angeles.
I'll be honest, Los Angeles wasn't always on my I Want To Live There List.
Most New Yorkers who see LA don't like it. And I was no different. "It's too spread out; everything's so far away," us New Yorkers say. Our spoiled sense of convenience isn't served by LA's congested freeways.
"He's handsome," said the hairdresser in Cantonese. She walked behind the lady cutting my hair and patted her shoulder. They smiled at each other.
In broken English my hairdresser asked, "Where you from?"
"New York," I replied. "I just moved here about a year and a half ago."
"You look like you've done this before."
I blinked at her. "Hmm?"
"You know exactly what you want. When you see it, you go straight for it."
"Heh. Yea, I guess so. I've already done this three times today."
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA