Skulls #1. In San Francisco the woman who took my order for hot milk at the coffee shop yesterday had a skull on her nametag. I told her I liked her skull. This seemed to make her happy. I realized later that maybe she had forgotten about her nametag and she thought I was saying that I liked her actual skull.
Skulls #2. In San Francisco the man who took my order for hot milk at the coffee shop this morning had tattoos of skulls all up and down his arms. Some of the skulls had crab's legs, which made me think of the dead crab I saw in Moss Beach. Some had wings, which made me think that this guy really liked skulls. This skull-covered man was, perhaps, the nicest, most friendly coffee shop order taker guy I have ever seen. Which just goes to show you... no matter what, you're always stuck with those tattoos.
Skulls #3. In the bathroom at San Francisco State, someone had written "Skull Fox" in the grout above the urinal. I thought this was a funny nickname. At least, I had a good laugh about it. I realized that Skull Fox could never prove who he was, and that I could steal his name and write it wherever I wanted and people would think that I was Skull Fox. This would probably make him angry, and he might try to find me and fight me. But I think that Skull Fox is probably not going to be able to take me, because really it's a pretty silly, childish name, and he is clearly lacking maturity since he's still writing on bathroom walls. So I think that even if he is strong, I can quickly outwit him by running across a railroad track just before a train comes. And when the train disappears... I will be gone. And he will call me Skull Fox Ghost.
Signed,
Skull Fox
