Bada boom... The guy stood next to me on the MUNI is five parts Johnny Ramone and ten parts Iggy Pop, one of those beautiful burn-outs that just love jumping into conversations with whoever is in earshot. We talk about Chinese medicine and his faith in acupuncture, his distrust of science. He spits out the word like he can taste the metallic tinge of something man made in the word itself. "It's like this black lady once told me, natural medicine is like slow cooking. It nurses the flavour while science is nothing but microwaved shit." He pauses to push the sun bleached air from his eyes as we swing gently on our heels, hands wrapped around straps hanging from the ceiling. People in transit. I notice the crows feet stalking out from the wide blue eyes and wonder how old this guy is. Fifty, easy - sixty, maybe. We hear two cars attempting to outsound each other by hitting their horns hard and heavy. "Dudes got rhythm," he smiles and finishes off their jam by slapping out a beat with his free hand on his thigh. "Bada boom!" I love San Francisco. Mike is writing to Rammstein