Day 2, Day 2, Day 2. My most flagrant memory of day two was the drunk, pedophile that followed us around the ferry to Alcatraz. Imagine, a man. Tall, a little gangly with thinning, greasy hair done up in a scraggly, hap-hazard comb over. His clothes are a size too big and he appears to be a fan of beige, from head to toe. He’s got a 5 o’ clock shadow at 10 in the morning. His hands are shaking, his pupils dialated and more thank likely it’s been a few days since his teeth had a date with his toothbrush. He’s carrying a brown bag, most his liquid lunch concealed. His squinty little eyes give off that most definitely chill inducing “I wouldn’t EVER want to be in a dark ally with you alone” vibe. Essentially a creepo. Now, get on a boat with him and commit yourself to a few hours on a small island with said creep. Good times right?
Well that is how day two started. Pedophile central. We went to Alcatraz, wandered around Pier 39 where I was made a spectacle in some “real life” magician’s show. I already knew the trick he tried on me… so, how to you fake surprise instead of annoyance? I’ll tell you how. Just look utterly terrified. Works like a charm.
We bought bread at Boudin’s sourdough factory and did a wine tasting — four letters, LOVE. Ate dinner at Nicks then rode the trolley home. It was lovely. A couple photos because the last two posts didn’t have quite enough…
Tags: Pedophile, San Francisco, Trolley
Oh you met Dave. He’s not a pedophile, he’s a necrophiliac.
(Also I googled that word to make sure it was the right one and I just realized, great, now google thinks I’m a weirdo. I mean, more so than before.)
Good to know, good to know. He’s not into little kids, just dead people. I will sleep better at night knowing that.
P.S. If looking up necrophiliac makes you a weirdo in Google’s eyes, I’m afraid there is no hope for anyone!