Last night, I got to see Steve in action on Vallejo Street. On my way home, I walked past my across the street neighbors standing in the rain. She was wearing some sort of large white taffeta thing--I don't think it was meant to be ferry wings with a cape, but thats what it looked like--that was sticking out from beneath her winter coat. They were standing beneath the streetlight, getting out of a cab. As he bent over to pay the cab driver, I noticed his face was painted silver, and he wore a large black mustache across his face, Pringles action, and large painted on black eyebrows. I glanced at her and saw she also sported a silver base layer with drawn on black (or possibly red, or purple, or green, it was dark) features. It was impressive, for a Thursday.
I get really tired of San Francisco sometimes, especially lately. Burned out. All that. But then a night like last night comes along every once in a while, and it just restores my faith in the pace. Face paint and potential motorcycle ass-kickings and all.
