Looks like someone’s got a case of the Mondays!

The bus was 20 minutes late, giving me plenty of time to get to know the inhabitants of this zany intersection.

I started by taking a quick panorama to get the forecast: 60 degrees, clear skies, 100% chance of urine smell. Check. All is normal.

First sighting: A bicrackleho—a crack whore on wheels. She stooped to pick a prettypretty out of the gutter, then dropped it in disgust muttering something about “I ALREADY HAVE ONE OF THESE GODDAMN IT BLAUGUHAUHGLAHGU” then riding off with her fabulous lime sherbet socks.

I wandered over to examine the prettypretty. At first I thought it was a cockring, but it turned out to be the top metal ring from a Pringles can. Either way, I’m not surprised she already had one.

Second sighting: A wizened, and undoubtedly wise shaman, naming all the cracks in the sidewalk and singing songs of glorious hunts.

Third sighting: Momma. Momma, as she is called by the locals, is an indigent grand matron of the hood. Young and old, crazy or sane, cracky, sobver, or jonesing for a fix, they all stop by to pay homage to Momma. She is some sort of weird, sweet, calming influence in the foul ecosystem of 16th and Mission. [Note: Some scary mean fucking cholo dealers wandered past several times. I was smart enough not to take pictures of them. They paid respects to Momma as well.]

Fourth sighting: An upstanding gentleman on his spirit quest. He has clearly partaken of the sacred rock—possibly under the careful supervision of the shaman—and is tripping. fucking. balls. I hope he finds what he is looking for.

Fifth sighting: Another regular. I don’t know his name yet as he keeps quiet and doesn’t interact with people. He tends to read a lot, do crossword puzzles, and occasionally feed pigeons.