Lost

: 10:30AM and still drunk, body tenses with anticipation and guilt, what happened last night? Crawl into D.’s bed, we bemoan the presence of hangovers, the sounds of buses on Haight Street; coffee and breakfast, we get ready to leave the house; T.’s apartment is black marble and darkwood cabinets with new appliances and fresh paint, outside her door the residents of 101 scuttle into their crack in the wall; 71 to Golden Gate Park, walking with heavy beer and a blanket; bike parking, lawn chairs, guitars; Indigo Girls at 1:00PM, we’re in the ivy and dirt behind them drinking Sapporo; H. and J. arrive, tell us their Norm MacDonald and Tom Green stories; then an awesome performance by Dave Alvin and the Guilty Women; fish and (garlic) chips from the booths; people complement our food like it’s the sexiest thing; Rosanne Cash, Nick Lowe and then, as the fog rolls in and the mist sprays, Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings; she tears up the stage with two beautiful back-up singers, a trio of hot men on brass, and she celebrates the whole audience from the front to the back; near the end I yell, “ShaRON!” and she hears me!!, waves; R., D., and I are the last ones left; walking home on Fulton passing retro buses and Airstreams; laughing until we’re exhausted; take the 33, make faces at each other; bearded guy with tattoos wears a black shirt with the word HEART in orange, “I like your shirt.” “Thanks, friend made it.” “Is that for the band?” “No, I went to Chico,” “Chico State? I been there.” D. pipes in “What kind of underwear you got on?” “Uh, this is my stop,” he says; craving bologna sandwiches but go for mortadella and Doritos; R. makes macaroni and cheese; the kitchen is a mess; D. and I watch Project Runway and two episodes of Cougar Town; flashing lights in my eyes; take a shower, go to bed, but I worry about the neighbors, think about gifting them Christmas cookies and rotten food outside their window.