March 18, 2005

A Sunny Stormy Day

I walked into a small hidden arcade with coffee shop to one side and barbershop at the other (there were barbers shaving old men's chins behind the window) and up a rickety elevator to the fifth floor, down a hall lined with dark wood doors, somewhere you'd expect a private eye, maybe a secretary with red rouged lips typing away, the slow hum of a fan casting shadows on the wall.

So, I had interview today. I wonder how this story will turn out in the end ...

Later, I took a trip to Haight, which, despite it's 15 or so shoe retailers, is stocked with ugly shoes, except for a pair of all-black Clark Wallabees--men's. Not much in the way of vintage, either. (I want to go to an actual thrift store.)

Things are somewhat slow, uneventful, but sweet. I'm ready to go and do something. I don't know how long I'm gonna last here.

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