O.K., here a coincidence for you. One of the first nights I was in San Francisco, I went out to a restaurant I was told was good. Never mind the fact that I never even got to eat there, because it had a three hour wait, or that they wanted 45 dollars for their signature chicken dish, or that I was later told it was for losers and tourists. The restaurant, by the way, is Zuni. But the point is, I went to this restaurant, and as I was leaving, some hobo with golf club starts swinging it at me and threating me.

Naturally at the time I thought nothing of it.

So two years pass. I am at the birthday party of a friend at a bar called the Hotel Biron, even though it is not a hotel, it's just a bar. But the party is kind of warm and smells like feet and cheese, so I'm talking outside on the sidewalk. And who should appear, but the very same hobo (I presume) carrying a golf club (also likely the same club, I'm guessing).

My somewhat volatile friend suggests immediately that we kill him and dismember the corpse, hiding it behind the vat of oil next to the dumpster, but I choose a more cautious approach, waiting to see if he takes another swing at me. Now I'm not pretending to be any kind of golf pro, but this was one of the larger drivers. Which made me figure that if he connected, he'd either take my head off or bend the shaft of his club, both undesirable outcomes.

Anyway, just then the cops showed up and stopped to talk to him, which made him scurry away. Not scurry really, more like pour out his liquor and stumble down the street. This was unjust, as I was drinking champagne at the time, as was the two guys I was talking to, and not out of a paper bag, out of real champagne flutes from the bar. Plus, since it was my friends birthday, we even had the bottle out there. But that is the unjustice of class war in action I suppose, my freedom to flaunt the public alcohol laws, while at the same time getting threatened by homeless people who carry golf clubs in a threatening manner.