On My Way to Ralphs

Since I don’t have access to a car very often I’ve tried to maintain my city habits of walking to the market for provisions. Knowing you have to carry them back is a great inhibitor against impulse buying.

I only made the mistake once of imposing my will against the mid-day, 110 degree heat. By the time I got to Ralphs I looked like I’d been in a wet t-shirt contest. Winded on the way back I was tempted to throw the groceries in the ditch just so I could get home. Maybe thats why there’s so much trash along the way.

But most of the year it’s an easy walk. You just have to pick the right time of day. And after forty years of climbing San Francisco’s hills, the flat terrain is a piece of cake.

Google clocks it at a mile and a quarter from my apartment. Same distance as the Derby.

Pastel debris seems so right against the desert sand.
Locals call it The Wash, although this might be Little Wash that feeds into the big one.
The hypotenuse is shorter than the sum of the two legs. I used to cut through the empty lots of velt to shorten the journey.
My trans-velt crossings stopped after I saw a coyote about 30 feet away. They only go for young flesh. Why I was spared I’ll never know.
Je suis Shriner. Can Sharia law be imposed ex post facto? This fez mockery has been going on for decades.
Neon debris seems so right against the desert sand.
Would like to hear his explanation for All Worlds Resort across the street. All gay, all nude, all the time. And where there’s nudity there’s….uh-huh.
What a hillbilly girl says when losing her virginity: watch it Dad you’re crushing my smokes.
Further signs of wild life.

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The Last Temptation of Me

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