2 12 2013
There’s a liquor store on Larkin that doesn’t sell liquor. Doesn’t sell beer, cigarettes, rolling papers, Swisher Sweets, Lotto scratchers or condoms. How do they stay in business since they don’t sell anything that poor ghetto folks want?
city livin', drinking, san francisco, smoke 'em if ya got 'em
12 11 2013
There’s a couple of guys sitting on the sidewalk out front of the liquor store, probably wandered over from Haight Street just to mix things up a bit. One of them has a guitar and plunks out of tune, sings some words and nods as they tumble down from his mouth. The other guy has […]
drinking, fuck ups, fucking off, lost at sea, san francisco
8 03 2011
WIN a signed copy of paul harrison’s meet me at gethsemane (mulla mulla press, 2011)! To enter the drawing, leave one (1) comment at the end of this blogpost feature. Comment must include a poem–your own poem or any poem you like–and your name. Bots are not eligible. Deadline: Thursday, March 17, 2011, 11:59 PM, […]
ain't afraid to hustle, drinking, media giants, poetry, portland
23 02 2011
I broke my foot and tore a nice bunch of ligaments all the way up my ankle playing pickup basketball at the Nate Thurmond courts between Ashbury and Clayton. I knew it was broke the second it happened. I rolled over from where I’d tumbled on the left block—my hands a little scuffed—looking at the […]
ain't afraid to hustle, ballin, california, code of the streets, drinking, san francisco
18 02 2010
We would hike up Telegraph Hill all the way to Coit Tower. We’d go past the parking lot to where you see the sweep of the Bay laid out and people clogging up the panorama posing for pictures.
california, drinking, fuck ups, hash, san francisco, weed
16 10 2009
The pool was in the center of Redwood Way Apartments. A palm tree planted by the hump of the kidney leaned out over it. She and I were diving under, grabbing at ankles trying to pull one another down
california, drinking, infidelity, women
10 07 2009
Never look at your favorite restaurant in the same way thanks to, “Cooking Dirty,” another tome in the long line of kitchen exposé books. Part memoir, part confessional, Jason Sheehan serves up the typical gross out “you won’t believe what happens before that souffle gets to your table” stories that inundate the foodie world. Sheehan, however, does it better than most, and importantly, doesn’t take himself too seriously as he chronicles his experiences during the long hours spent in commercial kitchens.
drinking, food, fuck ups, rock-n-roll, slack, Tupperware, weed, work