Welcome back to Oakland

Yesterday morning was spent at the laundromat on Telegraph. I got myself some company coming so have been washing up the larger and more awkward Objects d'Art in Casa Del Grant. (For the record it was a very dusty moosehead.) So just as I am settling in for 50 minutes of invisibility behind a novel a self proclaimed hobo marched in, whipped off his pants and jacket, jammed them in a washer then hit everyone up for two bucks in quarters. (He even got the remainder of my bergamont laundry soap. How foodefoo is that?) As the two most vital pieces of his wardrobe attempted to redeem themselves Mister Hobo spent a hour in his boxers, playing some impressively good blues harmonica and ranting mid-set at the spin cycle for making so much noise. He then proceeded to try to pick up any woman in the room.

(Oh, here's something for you industrious souls: try saying no to a pantsless inebriated hobo shaking a harmonica. It's just not possible.)

Afterwards, attempted recovery at Pizzaiolo drinking an excellent cup of Blue Bottle Coffee and partaking of the morning Toast and Jam menu, served by the lovely jam maker herself. Jam of choice: Tayberry. Never heard of it, but it was marvelous.

Just how flippin' wicked is this chess set?
I just adore Franklin Habit. The Adventures of Dolores continue.