Travels in Oakland
LaSalle Smoke Shop, a rare breath of sin in the fun-free zone of downtown Montclair, was closed down by neighbors complaining about the smell of smoke. I hope each complainer gets hit by a bus and I'm there to finish off any scraps and light a fat one over their remains.

Recently, I wandered into Egbert Souse's to revisit past glories, and the place was packed- with brothers. We all had one of those freezeframe moments before I skipped out and they resumed the party.

Piedmont Avenue has the most depressing bar scene in this universe. I had an aging blonde legal secretary drape herself all over me and mumble, "I'm hammered and I hope you're having yourself a time." I was bellied up alone, Jackson Browne was on the jukebox, and her date just stood there. I plead silently for the annihilation of the human race and then left.