I miss the heat of San Francisco. Sunny days lying out in Dolores park, Alissa in her bathing suit, that guy who looked like Phillip Seymour Hoffman and took his shirt off and started doing these amazing athletic hula-hoop moves. Sitting in my apartment where it was so hot I had to sit around in my underwear, or go out and sit on the stoop. I miss the liveliness, all the wild people around, walking out of my apartment to get groceries and being in a zoo of young friendly hip people. I miss the feeling of being part of something bigger, like everyone in the city was enjoying and suffering through the same shit, and fuck the tourists and bridgers.
I miss watching football on Sunday with my brothers, going out to the street at half time to throw the ball around, in the horrible humid heat of Houston. I miss watching football on Sunday in San Luis Obispo, usually alone, but with that glorious private patio. I would usually barbecue something for myself, chinese style chicken thighs, or a slow cooked tri-tip with dry rub, eat several times, get drunk, run around miming football moves inside my house of glass, then get bored and go stand around outside half naked and half drunk and hit fruit into the neighbor's yard with my baseball bat.