Date: Tue, 5 Nov 1996 08:37:11 -0800
From: Ann Borkin <aborkin@WELL.COM>
Subject: For Brad
To: Multiple recipients of list WORDS-L <WORDS-L@UGA.CC.UGA.EDU>

Dear Brad

You have advised me to do some prole living and people mingling and so I want to report on yesterday:

Yesterday I woke up fairly crippled with some kind of back annoyance, but I insisted on hobbling down the hill to the BUS because I thought it would help. (It did help.) I worked for a morning and reported at 12:55 to my dentist's office for a root canal.

I had arranged for Allan to meet me at the ferry that left SF at 3:35, but I stumbled, dazed and swollen-faced, with back hurting, from the dentist's office at about 1:50. I hobbled down Market street, moving so slowly that even if I started to cross a street just as the light changed, I could rarely make it completely to the other side before it changed back.

I decided to hang around on the pier in the sun, with whoever else was there, until the right ferry came. I ended up sharing a bench with a very interesting couple. She was Louisiana Cree and he was African American not from California. She was a nurse in the Navy for 6 years, and because of this her kids went to school on Treasure Island, and because of all that she had taken her companion to look across the Bay at Treasure Island and see the boats and just be on the water. She still misses being on the water. They were drinking Old English out of a one-liter water bottle. They were going to leave town soon but I don't know where they were going. They were going to hop the rails. She had never hopped the rails but he had and it was going to be very exciting.

There was a middle aged man fishing but the oil slick had disturbed the fish. He had caught one crab and one small something else, but he had thrown them back. All three agreed that whoever had caused the recent oil spill had done it on purpose, no way that was an accident. And the Asians were fishing out of the dirty bay and trying to sell that shit to black people. Time passed quickly in the sun on the bay. I wish I had enough guts to hop a rail.

End of report