I
eschew
the
day’s
aberrant
impressions.
The
tanned,
furrowed
gent
sporting
dark
sunglasses
unconsciously
scratches
a
lottery
card
on
a
picnic
table,
pondering
a
clueless
future
as
salt
air
tantalizes
his
nostrils.
I
accidentally
brush
a
sand
dollar
from
the
Promenade’s
railing.
Thankfully
it
doesn’t
shatter
as
it
smacks
the
wooden
walk.
A
pulse-‐popping
Grunge
band
dashes
brains
inside
Barnacle
Tim’s
Saloon.
It’s
getting
late
so
I
must
scram
for
the
leisurely
embrace
of
ultra
hip
San
Luis
Obispo.
Its
downtown
swarms
with
college
students
from
nearby
Cal
Poly.
Also
slightly
snobbish
debutantes
and
local
industrialists
who
mob
the
sidewalk
bistros,
crooning,
gabbing
about
the
latest
crazes
and
political
machinations.
On
the
corner
of
congested
Higuera
the
young
dishwater
blonde
carps
33