Today on the street I passed a man with a shaved head, black stubble just starting to poke through the skin, and an enormous, heroic scar running from just above his left eyebrow, arcing all the way up and over to the back of his head, the lips just held together with crude black whipstictching. It was spectacular! I'd never seen anything like it. His left eyelid drooped, but otherwise he had a friendly, Anthony Quinn-ish face. What on earth could have happened to this man that he could look like that and still be walking around? And this was in Pacific Heights, where most people look so pretty you want to check for the zipper. I wanted to stop him right there and ask him, What the hell happened to you? but I decided against it. His girlfriend looked pretty upset. She was having a bad day, but he seemed all right. Imagine that! Yeah, somebody took a cleaver to my head, but I'm feeling okay, how about you? What a conversation piece!
Imagine the stories he can tell his grandkids!