"What had happened was one of the SANDAG tow truck drivers had stopped to help this fellow and the guy had shot him. Four or five or six times. A Marine saw what was happening, jumped the fence of the Marine Corps base, grabbed the tow truck driver, and took off running under fire. The guy was shooting at them."
For breakfast in the U.S. Grant's dining room, one might come down the wide carpeted stairs and order Stewed Prunes, Fried Cornmeal Mush, Sauerkraut Juice, Milk Toast, Shirred Eggs with Chicken Livers, Little Pig Sausage, Boiled Salt Mackerel, and then, at the end of this repast, Ovaltine, Postum, or a nice mug of Half and Half. The most expensive breakfast item, a Breakfast Filet Mignon, cost 75 cents.
By Geoff Bouvier, Nov. 24, 2004
"In a drier environment, the sky is going to appear brighter."
It's not even noon and already I'm closing the blinds on the south-facing windows of my home office. That pesky natural light is overrunning the glow of the lamp by which I work. Too much of a bright thing. Most mornings, in the cliché of coastal overnight and morning low clouds, the daylight coming into my room takes its time. Like age or awareness. But now, at 11:44, the light's pouring in. If I don't mute it, my eyes'll hurt. I'll disappear in the glare.
"What had happened was one of the SANDAG tow truck drivers had stopped to help this fellow and the guy had shot him. Four or five or six times. A Marine saw what was happening, jumped the fence of the Marine Corps base, grabbed the tow truck driver, and took off running under fire. The guy was shooting at them."
For breakfast in the U.S. Grant's dining room, one might come down the wide carpeted stairs and order Stewed Prunes, Fried Cornmeal Mush, Sauerkraut Juice, Milk Toast, Shirred Eggs with Chicken Livers, Little Pig Sausage, Boiled Salt Mackerel, and then, at the end of this repast, Ovaltine, Postum, or a nice mug of Half and Half. The most expensive breakfast item, a Breakfast Filet Mignon, cost 75 cents.
By Geoff Bouvier, Nov. 24, 2004
"In a drier environment, the sky is going to appear brighter."
It's not even noon and already I'm closing the blinds on the south-facing windows of my home office. That pesky natural light is overrunning the glow of the lamp by which I work. Too much of a bright thing. Most mornings, in the cliché of coastal overnight and morning low clouds, the daylight coming into my room takes its time. Like age or awareness. But now, at 11:44, the light's pouring in. If I don't mute it, my eyes'll hurt. I'll disappear in the glare.