Savage Parade

The man was skinny and bedraggled. His hair and beard were long and appeared unwashed. He was barefoot. He carried a pair of children’s sneakers that couldn’t possibly fit him. He jaywalked, not looking to see if any cars were coming, moving slowly across the street and into the park, talking loudly, with a slow cadence, unusual pauses, and a lilt to his voice. “This is San Francisco. San (pause) Francisco is a place of assassins. Assassins (pause)come here to kill leaders. Make no mistake about it. San Francisco is also a place of inter (pause) national spies. International spies. They come here to do the devil’s work.”