Market Street

Old bloated hippie in pink oversized dancing bear shirt and tie dyed leggings pushing a shopping cart.

Strange fat faced bug-eyed woman trying to jimmy a parking meter with a piece of wire hanger. Unsuccessful in getting any change but maybe successful in communicating with the aliens living inside, she licks the meter when she leaves, licks it and bites it's corner, as if it's a big bone or chocolate bar that she will leave her mark on and come back to later.

A group of business travellers; two innocent looking middle aged men and a young woman working hard to maintain their good attitude on a crowded street full of family dissapointments.

A posse of young people dressed in baggy black clothes. They sell weed hidden in their sneakers to disturbed looking men walking too fast- gay speed freaks, dealing with their paranoia by smoking pot. They live in Market Street weekly rate apartments or Tenderloin studios. Watching TV, reading science fiction, working.
Working? Do they work? Can they work? Mayabe they see a doctor every couple months and act crazy, verifying their continued need for care and financial support, receiving only the money, and not too much of it.

I roam with my walkman on, listening to my mix tape. These people and their problems are beautiful to me with this music as their background.