\font\sans=cmss12 \parskip=8pt plus 2pt minus 1pt \baselineskip=12pt plus .1pt minus .1pt \sans Today (Sunday 22 Oct) was a very strange day. I decided to get¨ the hell out of the Pit after having worked all weekend cleaning¨ up after the quake, but I had nowhere to go really, so I just¨ took my skateboard and decided to go to the Castro or somewhere¨ for coffee or something. At 9pm Sunday there's not much to do¨ unless you wanna go hang out in a dark disco bar, which I hate.¨ It was really warm out, which was unusual, especially after it¨ was predicted that it was gonna rain and be miserable. So I took MUNI to Castro, checked out the graffiti paint job ACT-UP did in the street (a story in itself: during an ACT-UP¨ protest two Fridays ago, consisting mainly of the usual sitting¨ in the intersection at Market and Castro, then painting dozens of¨ human-body outlines in the street, the police rioted and did a¨ "sweep" of the Castro. "Police riot" is not an exaggeration --¨ during a completely non-violent protest the cops went wild,¨ beating people, and some yelling "faggots!" and "dykes!" -- the¨ Mayor was furious and wrote a letter of apology to local papers.) ANYWAYS -- Of course the Castro is otherwise boring and stupid¨ unless you are a clone or something, so I decided to skate¨ towards through South of Market, to check out the roller coaster¨ sidewalks and collapsed buildings and other fun stuff caused by¨ the quake. I came across the on-ramp to the Bay Bridge -- and decided to¨ take a tour of that otherwise impossible to explore structure.¨ What a chance! But shit -- I don't even get to the freeway before¨ some guy working on the bridge sees me, and tells me I can't go¨ up there. "No problem" I said, and just skated back down the¨ ramp. Oh well. I headed back towards Townsend, to look for the building that¨ rained bricks upon cars driving by, killing six people. As I'm¨ skating down pitch-dark Townsend, a car going the other way slows¨ down, and after a while turns around. This makes me nervous --¨ there's too many weirdos out lately, fag-bashers, red-necks,¨ whatever (About an hour back, a van full of weirdos followed me¨ down Bryant for a block until I ducked down a one-way side¨ street). So I casually skate around the corner, then quickly hide¨ behind the edge of the building to watch. Here it comes ... oops!¨ It's cops in an unmarked car! They see me, so I stand up, and ¨ wave. At the next corner I skate past them, no problem,¨ apparently they were just checking things out, but you can't be¨ too careful. So I head down Bryant. Aha! The I-280 Sixth Street off-ramp! It's¨ apparently closed due to earthquake damage, so this is another¨ once in a lifetime chance to explore a major feature of San¨ Francisco that's otherwise completely inaccessible. And it's¨ dark, and no one is working on it ... so I quickly run up the¨ ramp out of sight. You have to see this beautiful concrete thing to believe it. It's¨ four or five stories high, a hundred or so feet wide, five or six¨ huge interconnecting ribbons of aerial concrete, a huge wide road¨ that sweeps off in all directions out to the horizon. I love¨ driving, I take thousand mile or longer trips a few times a year,¨ I love highways in general, and this one specifically, as it's an ¨ incredibly dramatic drive into San Francisco from the south.¨ There's something about all high speed freeways and huge open¨ spaces like this that makes me horny. So I'm just about at the top of the ramp, I can see downtown,¨ most of South of Market, Potrero Hill, and the edge of the¨ Mission. For some reason this makes me even more horny -- so I¨ decide I will go to the highest and widest point I can find,¨ and masturbate in the high-speed lane. (Might as well -- there's¨ no one to have sex with here anyways.) But as I cross the overpass over Townsend, a spotlight hits me¨ from below -- and someone in the car it's attached to yells at¨ me. I move into the middle of the road, away from the edge where¨ I can be seen. I crawl back, and the car quickly drives off. Oh¨ oh. I skate up to the intersection where the Sixth St. ramp I'm on¨ meets the roadway to the Fourth Street ramp, look back, and see¨ an unpleasant flashing red and blue before it crests the hill!¨ Oops! Right at the intersection is a crash barrier -- a wedge¨ made of big yellow barrels filled with sand to keep cars from¨ hitting the concrete. There's a space between the rows of¨ barrels, so I climb in there and duck way down. It's the cops I¨ had ducked from earlier! Not a pleasant coincidence. Getting¨ busted here would be truly unpleasant -- I had no desire to get¨ hauled off to jail for something as stupid as this. So I get a bit smarter. I decided I better stay hidden for a¨ while. Smart move - - a few minutes later another car comes up¨ from the south. I scrunch way down as the cops zoom by the way I¨ came. They turn around, back to the fork, then down the other¨ ramp. I watch them go all the way down, turn around again. They¨ make another pass a few minutes later. OK, so I'm in the middle of this vast concrete desert, and out in¨ the open I could be spotted literally a mile a way under the big¨ sodium lamps, with nowhere to hide. I decided to hang out for a¨ while -- I had no idea how certain they were of who/what they had¨ seen, nor how important to them it was that they find me. I¨ figured hanging out in the barricade for an hour would be better¨ than going to the cop's house. All this time, the weather is getting stranger and stranger, not¨ to mention a bit cold. Huge clouds, and incredibly strong winds¨ are blowing sand, tin cans and tire shreds all over the place. Of course nothing happened, so an hour and ten minutes later, I¨ leave my hiding spot and head towards the 18th Street/Mariposa¨ exit. The concrete stretches to the horizon in both directions,¨ with other aerial roadways weaving in and out in all directions.¨ Fucking great! So I pulled my pants down and got my cock hard, ¨ which took a while because though the great expanse of concrete¨ was exciting, I was scared shitless of being caught. Eventually¨ it worked, and I squirt cum onto the little reflector bumps in¨ the high-speed lane of 280 North. Fuck yeah! OK, enough is enough. Now I gotta get out of here, and walk and¨ skate down the very roads those cops are probably patrolling. And¨ since this is deep South of Market, Sunday night, and all the¨ massive industry and warehouses are closed, it would be¨ reasonable to assume that any tall skinny person with a funny hat¨ and skateboard was probably the asshole who they saw earlier.But¨ luckily (or not, I took a roundabout route) I made it back¨ without incident. By the time I get home, the weather is totally nuts. It reminds¨ me of pre- hurricane weather you get on the East Coast. (Where¨ people say "I would never live where there's earthquakes!" but¨ when asked about hurricanes, they say "Oh, that's different.")¨ Huge, noisy gusts are blowing trash down the street: giant ¨ cardboard boxes, a little kids wading pool?, long strips of¨ plastic, and these huge cardboard tubes our slobby neighbors left¨ stacked on the sidewalk, and household trash from the¨ unhousebroken yuppie artfags that lives up stairs (they think¨ just putting it out on the sidewalks makes it disappear --¨ tonight they were right) ... it really feels like something¨ strange and scary is going to happen. No, there is no punch line to this story. It was just a very¨ strange night. \bye