Hadto take him over to
see it.
Driving toward unforgiving,
soullessheadlamps.
The arch, with those huge,
indecipherable figures,
and thingsclosing up,
except for the 16-year-olds
out for a Saturday night
Drunkon their development.
In club, club, club, hopping.
Hard steps, right offthe
the street that someone must
live in. Only if I could
get a glass ofSaki, yeah, that's funny.
Of course, it's Japonaise.
Then we might feellike
the men of the world. There's
that language again coming
from awell-dressed bunch,
accountants and bankers
on the town. I'm achild,
and can't speak a lick.
The big white cats with them
tailswrapped up, but those
tails don't matter, it's those eyes.
Them deep deepeyes on them damn
white cats.
Taunting with mystery.
Chopsticks diveinto chicken,
and that steam billowing from behind
the counter in terribleclouds.
I can't get enough.
The vegetables stuck
in drapes ofnoodles,
but no, right off Gilman, no, off Telegraph, that's where it's at.Berkeley
in a god***n minute.
All the way up Market Street,
it's thatview. Those lights,
like human fireflies. Each
another life, and that's theview and
experience,
all at once.






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