Tuesday, October 21, 2003

in the valley of cayuga park

It is dawn, but still no sun. Only the gray satellite dishes know the direction of its rays through the fog. To the east, Alemany, to the west, BART tracks rising high above the landscape. The wood spirits cry aloha through the mist, their houses painted brightly, a kali warrior with ponytailed locks stands guard. The tall grass gives the illusion of an even playing field masking deep holes and irregular rocks. A black caddie with double manifold rising from its hood sits in the dead end announcing its presence with a bass beat. Snoop Dogg extols, "Rollin down the street, smokin indo, sippin on gin and juice. Laid back (with my mind on my money and my money on my mind)" Its 10am, most of his homies are still asleep. At the house across the way seven Asian women each with a tupperware container hop into a minivan. Every 5 minutes the train passes overhead. An old man carries his granddaughter in a bright red cloth strapped to his back, her black hair peeking over its edges. He tells her story of the old country as he walks up the graffittied staircase to Alemany. As a boy I would walk in morning mist such as this.

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