December 4, 2002:
Sketch: Bob.
Gray-faced, bent-shouldered old man embodying decay triggered by material greed. Yellow-brown teeth, color of mustard gone bad. Trembling, yellow-brown fingers, stained with nicotine, except for the tips which are greenish like money. Peculiar high-pitched giggle which passes for a laugh. Most people laugh while exhaling: he laughs while inhaling, as though trying to suck other people's amusement from the air. "Niggers and roaches," he says with a shrug, giggling.
The RL model for this character is a landlord. Former pilot for Air America, the C.I.A. front which is widely reported to be a conduit for heroin smuggling. It's ironic that both his daughters grew up to be junkies.
Apartment interior on Masonic, not far from Panhandle Park. The living room has been converted into a crowded but well-equipped recording studio: Macintosh, racks of digital outboard equipment, speakers on stands, snaked cables around the wainscots, egg-carton foam panels over the bay windows. On the walls two disparate prints: James Denmark's "The Funky Spot," and an enormous red and blue advertising poster for The Clash's Sandinista.
"Aren't we supposed to be against the Sandinistas?" Peculiar high-pitched giggle which passes for a laugh. Trembling yellow-brown fingers subtly stroke an unlit cigarette, as if for comfort.
"You're perfectly welcome to be against anyone you like," replies a tall boy with a voice of cold scorn. His mouth is tight, as though he's forcing himself to hold back.
Bob the Landlord shrugs, giggles, pushes his bent-shouldered old frame down the hall toward the door, giggling something bad about the "niggers downstairs".
For 40 years he was a public school teacher in Oakland, CA. Your tax dollars at work.