Raw Comforts

For work, I've been put up in 400/night, fancy hotels with player pianos and gleaming artwork, in suites with jacuzzi tubs with views of Hollywood Hills or right in the middle of Mardi Gras.  And I appreciate it.  But, for some reason its comforting getting takeout on the street from the Flying Falafel, whose motto is 'your balls are in good hands', hearing the workers off-color joking in Spanish 'CHING-a tu madre'.  The way that San Francisco is gentle with its homeless, with the crazy people on the street, is also comforting; maybe because it makes me feel that I could be real too, that if I felt a bit crazy or had something not quite expected to say, that no one would raise an eyebrow.

What I find oppressive is the fast food chains that force every worker to say the same words hundreds of times a day.   I'd rather live in a world where people can be themselves, even if its messy and raw.