About a decade or so ago I was walking through the San Francisco night. I caught a glimpse of a figure standing alone in a dark doorway talking to himself. Thinking it a homeless person, a few steps on I realized it was someone talking on their cell phone. Mental maps were redrawn, and soon this scene became ubiquitous.
Today, I saw a homeless person propped up beside a bridge, texting on a cellphone. After a few more revolutions of my pedals, I noticed that he was merely passed out, hands clasped in his lap.
Now where did I leave that mental eraser?
On the turntable: Roxy Music, "Heart still Beating'
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