a man sat at the corner of haight and ashbury with a typewriter and a sign.
the sign read: “Pick a topic. Pick a price. Get a poem.”
ambur and i consulted.
we offered: “corners, pickles, and the number 31. $7.”
the man thought, and began clacking away.
we sat on the stoop of the ben and jerry’s that currently thrives on the history of this corner in a less transient fashion.
less than ten minutes passed, during which time another patron came by and promised to return after eating dinner.
then i got a poem for my birthday.
thanks, lynn gentry.
best of luck.