He tries to pedals but his legs are as heavy as two-ton tree trunks after Oscar’s Burgers closes before he can order. His face is long with the prospect of riding back to Oakland on empty.
I’m a bit shocked that he stops to talk to me considering the effort he needs just to cross the street.
He dons heavy hipster garb yet absent the ironic snap and sneer that I expect; in fact he’s downright pleasant.
Patient with my questioning though not forthcoming,
He’s on the Dole so I point him to the $2 Thai joint I visit nightly.
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