Q and I had a heated game of dots and I told him all about the east coast and he told me all about San Francisco. There was a bum behind the bushes telling his views on life and his voice sounded just like an old duck. Mallard Bum kept repeating "Get a Job, Get a Job". We moved to the Press Club on Clinton and ate crepes that made me feel like I was punched in the stomach before making our way up to Mt. Tabor to listen to Green Day on a split set of headphones like two bad 8th graders in love.
