Mission Mission

It only took me 3 minutes to find my first scene. While the Aztec dance demo was going on, this, what appeared to be, homeless man decided to start breaking it down. He danced for a solid 5 minutes. And what an outfit!: purple wig, multiple ties, a plastic Rancid purse, high-waisted poka-dot pants, and a hot pair of shades. He should be on Fashionist.

After stopping off at Pop's for a refreshment, I stumbled across a unicorn walking down the street along with a crazy lady chasing the mythical beast with a snake. I immediately became concerned that the bartender drugged me and I was tripping balls. After some passersby checked my pupils to confirm my sobriety, I watched in awe as the woman tried to mount the snake on the back of the unicorn, much to the apparent protest of the humans inside the animal.

For serious, there was a unicorn walking around 24th St. How awesome is that?

It would not be a social function in the Mission without the obligatory protestors shouting in your ear with a bullhorn. This time I learned about how the SFPD was racially profiling latinos by arbitrarily pulling them over while driving just to check on their immigration status. What particularly interested me about this exhibit was the depiction of the police. Until yesterday, I always thought flies spawned from my compost, not the crack of a cop's ass.

The operator of the tow truck was depicted to be a lot more cool and collected than the police. That's probably because he's smoking a spliff.

One cyclist had the style and swagger of a champion. If he showed up to any alleycat or Soil Saloon with his full Mexico kit, he'd receive an honorary award just for being a complete badass.

I was surprised to see all the pigeons that loiter at 24th and Mission not know how to handle all the people and take refuge on a neighboring roof. NYC pigeons they are not.

Some guy was rocking out from the 2nd floor of his apartment. Bonus points for rocking the aviators indoors and having a grill on your roof that was too off-camber to use effectively.

Finally, my favorite thing about Sunday Streets was watching adults completely forget how to play playground games. Fearing embarrassment delivered by the 6th graders, I played the role of the sideline recluse.

In other news, SFist's Brock Keeling noticed that "Valencia St. smelled like b.o." Unfortunately, I missed that.