i'm in cafe trieste on San Pablo right now. it's 8:53. way past my normal bed time and now that i've dranken me a coffee and eaten $1.25 (bloated Andronico price) worth of chocolate covered cranberries i'm totally whacked out on sugar and caffeine and will surely be up until midnight. Linda is probably out now, sleeping off her $5 margarita as the hookers prowl around her Extended stay retirement home. this is a pretty good cafe. it's got wireless and usually they have a nice band playing jazz or some earthy crunchy accoustic stuff. last night, i liked the music a lot. and so did this guy in the audience. he liked it so much he clapped in the middle of the song. one of those really loud claps from cupping your hands together. the old lady in me wanted to go over and ask him not to clap so loud. but you can't really do that can you?

but now they have some light rock playing and it's way too loud and I might have to leave asap. the lady sitting next to me keeps banging her clog against my foot. her foot really is in my airspace and I don't know why she can't just sit in the middle of the table instead of hanging off the edge of it. she's reading a book that's filled with pictures and she has a really annoying laugh. "HA!" like she has something stuck in her throat. "HA" if she does it one more time i'm doing the Heimlich on her whether she likes it or not. did she just say something to me? don't look up. keep typing. i wish to hell they'd change the radio station. maybe i don't like this cafe. maybe i don't like cafes, after all. tho i do find the noise and distractions good for the writing. if i was at home right now i'd be danging string in front of the kitties or standing in front of the refrigerator wondering, "do i really want a pickle?"

okay, she's talking outloud now. "WOW, Intense. that was just fabulous!" out of the side of my eye, i can see her gazing at the book cover, shaking her head in amazement. "so good," she says. how do people get that way? i mean feeling so free, to speak outloud, say whatever the hell crap they feel like in public? did they learn it at home? did she come from a family of out-loud thinkers, all walking around the house saying whatever came into their heads?

maybe i'm hung up. but in my family, just asking someone to pass the salt at the dinner table could stir up all kinds of shit.



she closes the book, whacks me one more time with her clog and takes her outloud thoughts with her out the door. AND she doesn't even take her plate and cup to the dirty plate tub. i can't imagine just getting up like that. they sell wine here. maybe i want a wine. $8 a glass. i've been watching my pennies. going home for lunch eating dinner at home since Linda's been in Fresno. Suddenly coughing up $8 for a glass of wine seems kind of extravagant. pretty sure that'll change tomorrow.

okay, i'm going home to dangle some string for the kitties. and maybe eat a pickle.