Old-timers talking at the cafe: "Hey, you see that hahrah film? That byoo-di-ful pungkin really went through the warsher." Ah, a lovely dialect slowly disappearing into obscurity. I had a neighbor many years ago who was a salty old dog and he talked the old-timey way. I wish I had been a word collector back... Continue Reading →
On a warm February night in San Francisco the streets teemed with people, stressed looking salary men and women with their jaws clenched tight, raving lunatics with pants hanging just a little too south of the equator, and a distinct crowd of sharply dressed, hat wearing people. These haberdashery fans were my people, and they... Continue Reading →
There is a lot of noir in San Francisco. Not only what's on its fog stained surface, but in its raw, marrow filled bones. The gold digging hooligans and glassy-eyed dames that worked these streets suffered to make it what it is, they suffered big time in this little city. The darkness, rankness and seething... Continue Reading →
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