The man’s vision is in infrared, nothing seems natural anymore. He travels to find relaxation, peace, discovery, even a moment of fun perhaps.
All he finds are empty streets full of people. Black and white buildings in a construe of color.

Reaching for the connectedness of family and friends, but is unable to connect.
You are disconnected. Discombobulated. Distraught.

Ride a trolley up and down the streets of the city, wishing for the wind to wipe the cobwebs out of your skull.
I just want to see truth, or at least to know there is none to be found.
Dinner on the waterfront. Drinks down the hatch. Life is looking more optimistic, if only for a time, thanks to Irish coffee.
The midnight hour is upon us, and with it a new persona arises.
The man willingly chats with the cabbie, as if they are best friends. He is from Sudan, you tell him about your love of Kenya. We are bonded as kinsman by the time we reach our destination.
If only all of life could be short acquaintances with strangers, leaving you a better person.
You find yourself on a hotel ledge, wondering….

Morning comes, and the call for the perfect omelet down on the wharf to cure your headache, followed by time on the Bay.
Seeing the Golden Gate Bridge from underneath lends to a new appreciation of its architecture.
We slowly circle the infamous Alcatraz, as one can feel the omnipresence of the Island and its former captors.
Prisons give you the creeps, but one can’t turn away from the truth of this place.
Horror and tortured souls.
With feet back on the mainland, it is time to go watch some football, college style.
The game is horrid, but you get to see a legend.
Willie Mays.
The evening ends with a pre-Halloween party at our hotel. With the last minute purchase of cheaper than cheap masks, we have our costumes. Laughing at one’s own idiosyncrasy, we try to enter, but get denied. Apparently sandals and shorts are not the style they are looking for. No worries, as we have our own party, none the wiser.
A weekend passes, pushes life closer to the inevitable end.
Shell shocked in San Francisco.

One Reply to “Shellshock’d”

Wench, bring my ale, what say you?

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