I entered this day energized, aware and free. On my way home and with four hours of driving still ahead of me, I stopped in Berkeley. My main goal was to go to a couple of books stores, but I wanted more. My boundaries were extending to much around me. I decided to see where it would take me. A movie or a conversation were a couple of the many possibilities. I dove into the first book store. With two paperbacks I wanted, I went to the down Telegraph to Shakesphere Books. Tall shelves requiring the use of a ladder at times. Two more books that my collection lacked.
A shift to the street fair took me back to the sixties. There was tie dyed shirts, incense, pottery, pictures and a small jazz festival. Lots of punks mixed in also, spiked - colored hair, piercings and tattoos. I put the facial design as being more out there than the pierced nasal bridge. Lips and eyebrows are so common place - who cares? A group of topless men and women came down the street holding a sign: Tits not Targets. I guess a variation of make love not war. They formed a circle at a corner and sang a song about breast pride and how they are pleasing to look at. Most people just glanced and moved on, nobody whipped off their top and joined in.
I went to a Mexican food place. A woman came in and obtained a massive tostada. I'm thinking, how is she going to eat all of that. Two people would have had trouble finishing all that was there. She took a couple of bites, got up, and left it there with her Bay Guardian. Now I wondering, is a homeless person going to come in and enjoy this, maybe she has a friend and this is the only way they can work it out. I was next to the window and took my time, watching the people go by. The edge of the fog was playing with the hills. When I left I am next to the same woman at the corner. We talk as we walk down the street:
"I wondered how you were going to eat the whole thing."
"The chicken was terrible, undercooked, I just couldn't eat more so I came down here and had a nice meal."
"I had the chicken taco and it wasn't the best I've ever had, a little greasy, but cooked alright."
"My name is Barbara." She extended her hand. I'm thinking should I offer a cup of coffee?
"I'm Bill. Just passing through, on my way home to the San Luis Obispo area. You live here?"
"Yes, I've been here several years."
"I collect books, and as we're at Moe's, this is my next stop. It's been nice talking with you." We acknowledged each other, parted and I entered the store.
Five floors and 3 books later, I crossed the street and ordered a Latte. There was a spot open, outside on the sidewalk. Just 100 feet east was a group selling bubble makers. They were sending off massive four foot bubbles into the air. Some had trouble forming, continually undulating. Others majestically rose in the air. A bicyclist hit one with bubble extending for a couple of feet all around his head. A smoker was sending off smaller smoke filled ones that would pop leaving a cloud.
A couple sat next to me raving about Big Night. All of the fine touches, the acting, the food, the cars, Isabella. I will see it soon. A contrast from Bound which I had been to the night before. In it, I would have welcomed more eroticism and less blood.
wm. Ashley, October 15, 1996
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