A Saturday afternoon and we’re walking through the sweaty corridor of Haight street in San Francisco. We are passing a man who wants money for weed. I smell nothing but incense and urine and pizza and sweat, and I wonder if Haight will ever grow up out of its Tibetan-American phase, whether Chas will ever grow out of his nipple fascination.
No, and probably not.
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nice capture!
That picture is classic. We giggle when we go thru our wedding reception pictures from the Salt Lick. His hand is in exactly the same place on every single one.
Was he yelling “my nipple! my nipple!” at the top of his lungs?
No, that would be a Winnikinism
Chas, as usual, was gruntchuckling. Men.
I love this picture! What an interesting angle and the gaze of the camera…
Love it!