Just paid a $1.75 for a snickers bar

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Just paid a $1.75 for a snickers bar. I'm at a café in San Francisco, at 26th and Cyprus. It doesn't seem to have a name. Going to Sylvie's at noon for tea. I met her last week when she came to our house concert. Howe Gelb played.

I'm 15 minutes early. I took BART. It's pouring rain. My umbrella is pretty much useless, and my suede shoes are soaked through.

One other guy here. Stone faced. A paper cup in front of him on the table he hasn't touched. Wonder how long he's been here? Wonder how much longer he'll stay? Biding his time. A place to get out of the rain for $1.50.

Guy behind the counter is on the phone: "No pancake", he says. "No - no pancake".

This does not seem like a place that anyone would go to write. Very utilitarian. This is not the hang-out-at-a-cafe part of the Mission. It's working class. Laborers. Pick-up truck beds filled with flattened cardboard boxes. Broken parking meters. Women pushing strollers covered with plastic tarps. Plantains, not bananas.

It's noon. I'll wait a couple more minutes just to be safe. What does 'safe' mean in this context? Not too prompt.

OK. Good plan.

I have to pee.