As I Traveled Under Your Gaze

Here's what I've learned over the Thanksgiving Holiday between San Francisco and San Diego: Every pretty girl on that 500 mile trek gets hit up by about 9,000 times, every day. The boys try it one way, the young-men in other ways -- the old men with refined technique that could be described as consciously moneyed and boorish. It happens in cafes, department stores, boutiques, libraries, churches, bars, everywhere, and at all hours. A pretty woman learns much about the opposite sex in how they attempt, and then inevitably flame out. Well, most of them attempt and aren't up to the task. Being sober counts! Clean clothes and a nice smile, the ability listen and join into conversation helps!

Square your belt,
and keep on your boots.

If you have on a hat,
hold it when you say hello.

I listened to them and I doubted it all. I listened more and drew diagrams of constellations like Orion the Hunter at a ballpark having a beer, or doing his taxes at the computer, and they laughed. But at San Luis Obsipo, with the crescent moon and a lone star about to land in the sea, I started understanding what had been told to me! The night rose up like a ghost mansion, and at every gabled window a statuesque blue-eyed blonde watched out over the lonely abandoned mountains, and to the forested North, and they searched out over the South to my destination. Thank you, gorgeous women, as I traveled under your gaze.