San Francisco: Creek Cafe

A nice balance of social interaction and reclusive netbooking. Three paintings hang above the 3 larger tables that accomodate parties of 4.
Abstract, with subtle blues and purples, as if the piece had been dipped in the mediterranean, and the crisp blues intertwined with the previous colors.
There is also a lady, no older than forty, with a voluptuous figure, greeting the second table with her enormous breasts. Yet again, the blues... the blues...
Botero, is that you hiding under the painter's imagination?

And back to abstract!

All in all, a great space to get "work" done. What I thoroughly enjoy about this space, however, is the people it seems to attract. Individuals in their mid to late twenties, desiring for success but not afraid to share a smile or nod. Spent an hour with a gentleman speaking about Jorge Luis Borges which, eventually, led to digressions about Brazil and life itself. Yet, I never caught his name, not because I didn't care, but because I was far more curious about his insight and perspective.

Talking to strangers is becoming a habit (amongst other things).

With regards to the coffee and food: I had a delicious soy latte paired with a veggie sandwich. I preferred the former over the latter, but that's fine, since I drink more coffee than eat actual food.
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Dreary beginnings in San Francisco that eventually become beautiful sunny skies paint a smile across my face and resonate a sense of assurance that "all will be well, eventually." Things are now slowly falling into place, but I am trying not to get too ahead of myself.

People are clicking, intentions are arising, and I am here, as an onlooker, analyzing each situation (whether idiotic or intelligent) in hopes of understanding. And it feels good to be back on track and out of a rut.

A man who doesn’t know he’s in prison can never escape. As soon as you realise the planet and your body constitute an almost escape-proof jail, as soon as you know you are in prison - you have a possibility to escape.
—William S. Burroughs


Burroughs and I are inmates, escaping together with the assistance of as many illegal possibilities as necessary.
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All I heard was that rasp; that sass; that..
"why don't we do it in the road...?"
and the door shut behind me;
the coffee shop, or penitentiary?

-Mon