every morning, on my commute across the golden gate bridge, i see the flag guy.

he first appeared a little after september 11th, after everyone on the west coast had settled down a little and felt that it was safe enough to drive on the bridges without several tons of metal and fire exploding at hundreds of miles per hour.

every morning he wears a combination of red, white and blue. yesterday morning was blue pants, a dark red long-sleeved shirt, a red/white/blue scarf, billowing in the wind behind him, and a red cowboy hat. he appears like a cowboy of king arthur from out of the mist, bearing two tiny american flags and the biggest, most sober permagrin smile. sometimes he's jogging.

i was telling someone about the flag guy at a party the other day. we had been drinking and talking about notable san francisco crazy people when he came up.

"it's really weird... i don't know what his motivation is. there's no stopping on the golden gate bridge, so it's not like i can just pull over and ask him what the deal is. he's just this constantly strange guy who gets up out of bed every morning and decides that he's going to carry tiny flags across the golden gate bridge... what the hell is his story?"

rita finished her tecate as she listened to my ranting and laughed at me.

"...and every morning, after he's made his rounds, i'm sure the flag guy goes home and tells his wife, 'you know... there's this really weird woman who drives on the golden gate bridge every morning and her car is covered entirely in records... what the hell is her story?"

she had a point.

<06.28.02>

 

 

 

 

 

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