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GLEANING – or the year Allen Ginsberg moved to the Mission

12 Feb

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They wake up at 10:00, sometimes 11:00, walk down to Ritual Coffee Roasters and have a double latte with organic grass fed whole milk – the very own  Buddha blessed those cows, winks the barista with her tattoos covering her neck and ears with colorful spider webs, in the inside of her arms Sanskrit characters crawl up to her armpits these are my favorite Sutras as she hands out the perfectly embroidered heart shaped foam on top of a warm white china cup.

They read the news in their phones, update their statuses, flip through photographs and buy another coffee – this time single shot – with the credit cards they’re hoping to pay off when their writing, art, coding, contortionism, face painting, hardcore web porn finally pays off.

They go to their god walking gig, a Pit Bull and an 18-year-old half blind half deaf mini greyhound that means the world to their childless owner that is always out of the country. They can eat anything at his fridge and pantry and they score canned tuna with cooked eggs and olives, some salad they’ve got at the free farm stand on Sunday and saved in the dogs’ fridge since they don’t have a refrigerator at their basement studio.

They sit at a café on Valencia Street and try to work on their calling but get caught once again in the web of distractions. They give up and go to their yoga by donation hoping to get back into focus and promise not to drink coffee ever again, after going vegan at last.

They ride their fixies back home and at Shotwell they stumble upon an art opening with wine, champagne, bacon wrapped scallops skewers and ok paintings. The yoga made them hungry. Free is holier than vegan.

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