Today I was walking back from the coffee shop, and saw a man standing unsteadily between two cars. As I drew nearer, I saw that he was completing his toilet in the relative privacy afforded by an SUV. I held my breath and walked around the corner; I could hear him shuffling after me. As I walked past the Vapor Room, I saw a woman waking up from a night spent at the bottom of the stairs leading to the medicinal-marijuana dispensary; the man rounded the corner and called after her, asking if she wanted a bowl of cereal. She did, and stirred herself up the stairs and in his direction.
Drinking wine and eating cheese, reading the Western Neighborhoods Project web site.
From my phone to the internet in two clicks: I've started a photoblog.
The first entry was, naturally, a photo of sprout.
(lights go out, etc)
One of my neighbours commented that -- aside from the red glow of the Marina afire -- the outage reminded him of '89. This was before we had any idea of what caused the darkness.
Even Davies, the squat grey monstrosity at the end of Scott St., was dark.
Slackers suffered: not all of our hardware is robust enough to come back up on its own. A restless night babysitting the systems, and they're still not all in apple-pie order.