Only in San Francisco

I was on BART this morning on my way to work.

I was listening to my music from my mp3 player and reading the latest Grisham book.

The train stopped and a guy got on and sat right across from me.

I tried not to stare as I looked him up and down. He was a white guy with a pink mohawk and bright yellow pants. He was blasting rap music out of his purple backpack and knitting a scarf. And amazingly he didn't reek of stale body odor, but smelled fairly nice. It was the strangest combination that anyone could imagine.

But the weird thing was not the way he looked or the music that he was listening to or the things he was doing, it was the casual way in which people around him were not reacting. The BART train was crowded, considering it was smack in the middle of morning commute time, but no one seemed to think this guy was out of the ordinary. No one really stared at this guy as he took out his knitting supplies and rocked his head to the music. No one really seemed to lift their heads for more than a few seconds from the morning paper. No one really seemed to care. Not that I wanted people to make a big deal out of this and stare at this guy and make him feel uncomfortable, but it is what I expected.

But hey, I guess, my thoughts ran along the same lines as everyone else. Only in San Francisco.