My cousin Eric called this morning around 10:30. The cruise ship he works on docked in San Francisco for the day so I drove across the bay to take him to brunch. After picking him up at pier 35, we dilly dallied over to 20th and Valencia to the Subterranean Shoe Room. I purchased a nice vintage style pair of Puma Roma's in a Taupe suede. Eric asked the clerks where there were any tobacco shops. They directed us to 24th and Mission, conveniently located across the street from El Farolito (one of my favorite taquerias). Afterwards we patronized the smoke shop, owned by an old one-legged middle eastern man yelling obscenities from the back room. My cousin purchased two bottles of detox and a few hundred small bags to store his marijuana. On the way back to his vessel, Eric requested a trip into Chinatown so that he could find pork buns for his Filipino shipmates. As we parted ways he handed me what was left of his marijuana, and with a handshake he departed. However on the bay bridge drive home, as I was playing my "hip hop" music in the Land Rover, four Buicks pulled up beside me and displayed their hydraulic systems! Oh the sight! A Latino family of six in a Buick station wagon on three wheels.[/b]
I'm gettin' old (36) but I didn't realize how out of the "scene" I was until I saw this, and for the first time in my life I have
no desire to use the contemporary venacular as it sounds like the ramblings of a crackhead
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