1.19.2026

1.19.2026
Steinbeck book on a pile of pillows next to a street sign. Old hippies smelling of patchouli and cigarettes. Wolf on a leash. NARCAN spraypainted on a construction dumpster. Blanket laid out on the sidewalk displaying handmade bras, no customers. This apartment on the top floor of a Queen Anne building on Ashbury. Peanut butter, expired 2019. Ancient heating contraption, you can see the flames, like an old boiler. I should order some coal on DoorDash. Is and isn’t the place Joan Didion wrote about. Certainly not the scene. I keep searching online for what happened to the five year old girl she met on LSD. She could still be around. Could be sleeping at a bus stop or running an apothecary, making her own incense. Buskers aplenty. Garlic and eucalyptus and redwood mulch.