December 8, 2023:
There's a vending machine next to the northern doors. A friend is deciding what to buy. It's 1969: "Come Together" is playing on someone's transistor radio.
Outside those doors an evil little boy's hard rock older brother threatens to kick my ass. I've been hearing that expression for four years now but still find it hilarious, with its inevitable mental image of some kid jumping up and down on one foot aiming blows with the other, like the Black Knight in Monty Python.
Fast forward to 1978 or 79. I lock my bike in the racks beside the western doors, if I've wanted a bike ride. Elsewise I just walk. To sit in the café or in a booth near the lanes, with french fries and a shake and Papermate Flairs and volumes of Louis Althusser.
RIP Clairemont Bowl.