Missed my ferry home tonight. By one minute. I didn’t want to wait the hour until the next boat, so I hopped across Market Street to catch the BART back home. The ride was a bit warm, you know the temperature when the AC is performing the A but not the C. Got to my destination station and sure enough the ticket is 30 cents short and I don’t have change. But wait, I’ve got another 60 cent ticket and with a little negotiating the BART gate agent lets me slide through. A short walk home and the evening can begin.

Sniff…sniff…Crap. That’s right. There was an inordinate amount of crap on the walk home. I was obviously on the dog crap path, a secretly marked route where it is allowed, hell, encouraged to let your dog’s business become every other pedestrian’s business.

Now I walk these sidewalks maybe once a month, just often enough to know it’s not the best part of town but that I will make it home safely if I don’t have a ride. Yet, never can I recall seeing any dog doo anywhere on the way home. Maybe it is just a newly instituted policy that I would know about if I had a dog. I don’t feel left out, more bewildered that suddenly (as far as I know) this is the place for the poop to pile up.

And piled it was, ending the work part of my day with a fragrant reminder of all the little things that didn’t quite fit together throughout the day. I’ll probably take the ferry next time.