If you’ve ever walked down the street with me while I tried to convince you that it was ok to pop a top and have a little drinky-poo on the street, well, you coulda laughed and pointed at me as you drove by 19th and Mission today at about 5. I was standing there, with half a Newcastle Brown Ale splashed all over my Vans. It was poured out onto the sidewalk by one officer Baretto.

I was having a pretty good day. Got up early as the sun was making my apartment glow, and I had Swiffer’ed the whole place by ten, singin’ like I was Julie Andrews. By noon I had all the bottle caps and gum wrappers off the coffee table and was crankin drum ‘n’ bass. Maltz picked me and Marcie up and we went to Café Lola and saw Joanna and then we visited Rebecca in her big new warehouse down by the water. It was a beautiful day and it was all going swimmingly. Dave dropped me off at SF General for my appointment where I got various excess skin growths blasted with a liquid nitrogen torch. It started to get even better when I talked to Jason at Chalk as I sauntered home and he said things were moving forward with my little employment proposal and he’d be able to do something in a couple of weeks. Well, what else to do as I was about to cross South Van Ness but stop in and get something to drink? I was thirsty, the sun was setting in my eyes, I was on a walk across my beloved neighborhood. I settled on the most tastiest of beverages I could imagine. Newcastle Brown Ale. The liquor store clerk congratulated me on my selection and bagged it up in its own individual brown paper bag. I twisted and cranked that sucker down on my bottle and headed across Capp St.

The smell of roasting chickens pouring out of Pete’s BBQ was almost driving me crazy but I took a big pull off my beer, holding proudly aloft and rounded the corner onto Mission. I saw the old Mission Thrift sign and I hadn’t been in there in a while. I figured they’d let me bring a beverage in while shopped. I headed across the street.

Then I saw them. Big, thick cops. I palmed my beer in my opposite hand but I’m sure it did no good. They saw me crossing the street and just stopped and waited for me to get to the other side. The guy on the right held out his hand and said, “Hmm, whaddaya think, what got you caught? Which was easier for me to spot, you stashing your beer or you J-walking across the street?” He gave me the usual, “You’re pretty goddamn stupid. Just like everyfuckingbody else I have to deal with on this piece of shit street.” As he splashed my new Vans he said, “You know the main reason why they got us walkin’ up and down this street? The businesses pay us to keep people from drinking on the street. I could give you a ticket for J-walking and for public drinking and the J-walking one is a big one, but I’m only giving you the drinking ticket. You ever been arrested, Mr. Primmer?”

As I go through this story, the humiliation is starting to wear off. I think I have a Newcastle in my fridge. I’m starting to get my thirst back.