Eight full hours I worked that day
before slouching towards the gray
line of ocean stretched pole to pole.
Whitecaps and a tanker's scarred hull
slid towards the hidden Golden Gate.
I had a fifth of vodka with me. Great
plumes of sand, tan and claw-shaped
leapt up off the dunes. Succulents draped
over the hills hid a place where I
could sleep in my vast German army coat lined
with fake green fur. Warmed by the lonely horn
heralding fog, I donned headphones. Blondie. Born
of a beast of a man, I could lay my head
anywhere away from the lights, the club kids' tread.
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