A Chronological Letting Go Through Yoga: 175 Micro Memoirs of Mental Release

These 150+ micro memoirs emerged from a personal practice of releasing intrusive thoughts during yoga.

When the pandemic hit, I turned to YouTube and Zoom classes—projected on my wall from a tall shelf. I moved through sessions with Breathe and Flow, Yoga with Kassandra, Travis Eliot, Nicole Wild, Naked Tantric Yoga, and others across the world.

Yoga helped me stay present. It loosened my grip on regrets and anxieties. One day, after a particularly deep stretch, an instructor quoted Pema Chödrön:

“You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.”

It echoed the words inked on my elbow: “This too shall pass.”
A phrase I’d started to doubt.

Old stresses still arrive—what I call “micro-traumas”—those sharp fragments of memory. I used to try to fix or justify them. That only made them worse.

Now, I let them pass.

These short writings are not about solving. They’re about surrendering.
Letting thoughts rise and fall—like weather through the sky of the mind.

Micro-Memoirs

  1. In kindergarten, I panicked over a missed homework page. My mom shouted, “You got an OOPS!” New Jersey, 1988.
  2. My aunt and mom waved from an upstairs window after locking my cousins in the basement and me out of the house. New Jersey, 1993.
  3. In 4th grade, said something tasted like wood. Got mocked. Vowed never to talk to anyone from that school again. New Jersey & California, 1993–1994.
  4. Mr. Houston accused me of smoking and smelled my shirt in front of the class. Orange County, 1996.
  5. Terrified riding on Uncle Tom’s motorcycle. Held him way too tight. San Diego, 1996.
  6. I made out with Cyndi in front of seventh graders, then dumped her. Orange County, 1996.
  7. The middle school principal made me pick up trash my jeans kicked, then called my parents to bring new pants. Orange County, 1997.
  8. Azure hated being my homecoming date. Her dad threatened to call the cops, and I held her thumb in the photo. Orange County, 1997.
  9. I screamed like I was possessed after my parents turned away Jehovah’s Witnesses. Orange County, 1998.
  10. My mom made me yell at a teenage solicitor who farted and smirked at her. Orange County, 1998.
  11. At 16, I worked illegal late-night shifts at Ruby’s Diner. The worst wasn’t the abuse—it was when Cami, a woman in her 40s, falsely accused me of stealing tips while flirting to guilt-trip me. Laguna Beach, 1999.
  12. I got caught cheating on a Science quiz and lied—because the teacher was blind. Orange County, 1999.
  13. My Republican parents guilt-tripped me for not suing Katee after she plowed into an SUV with a disabled passenger. She’d been awful to me in high school. I probably should have gone after her money. Orange County, 1999.
  14. My asshole Republican parents kept the insurance money after my car accident. They were arrogant and refused to put it toward a new car. Orange County, 2000.
  15. I drew a winking emoticon on a psych form asking if I masturbated. The doctor tried to analyze it. Orange County, 2000.
  16. At Koo’s Café, a girl handed me her flip phone to hold while she used the restroom. I joked about using it—her boyfriend overheard and got mad. I gave it back. Orange County, 2001.
  17. Sabrina stole my Hi8 camcorder after prom and got defensive when I asked about it years later. Orange County & Internet, 2001–2007.
  18. Two quitting managers at Skinmarket hired me despite being bad at makeup. I was let go after quitting and wanting back. They went under three months later. Orange County, 2001.
  19. I should’ve dropped Prof. Borella’s Oceanography class—only six students stuck around. Physics would’ve been better. Orange County, 2002.
  20. I didn’t pay The Mistake—though I was the one who excluded people from my 19th birthday show. Orange County, 2002.
  21. During a photography video, I shushed chatty students and they shushed me back. Orange County, 2002.
  22. Told a Suicidegirl “I’m pregnant” as a joke. She’d gotten knocked up by a tattooed guy I knew tangentially. Internet, 2002.
  23. All I recall about ‘kris kahn’ is that he quietly unfriended me on every shared platform. Internet, 2003–2011.
  24. A woman on Crown Valley Parkway yelled at me for not giving directions fast enough. Orange County, 2003.
  25. I slut-shamed a LiveJournal stalker. She confronted me in person, blew smoke in my face. Pomona, 2003.
  26. Two pedestrians aggressively confronted me while I was driving in OC. I gave up driving shortly after. Orange County, 2003.
  27. Victor and his drunk friends kicked me out of his art show—before I even arrived. After a 5-hour drive from Orange County, he made me read his angry email at an internet café. His show featured pink, intestine-shaped pop art. Las Vegas, 2003.
  28. I gave a terrible, long-winded Urban Planning presentation. Everyone looked dead. I dropped the class the next day. Orange County, 2003.
  29. A rude modeling agent hung up on me when I called from my Nokia. Orange County, 2003.
  30. Geordon mocked my nose after I called him out for using me to get Viktor’s AIM. Internet, 2003.
  31. I led Stephanie on. After a bathtub photo shoot, she declared I was gay. I wasn’t into her—just hetero-curious, but not for her. Orange County, 2003.
  32. Kim removed me from her LiveJournal “pictography” club. My photos weren’t “conceptual” enough. Internet, 2004.
  33. At Paul Mitchell, I told a rude salon manager to leave. She told me to leave instead. Orange County, 2004.
  34. A Modern Times Bookstore guy mocked me for leaving free zines. Said no one buys what’s free. “Dog Eared paid a dollar,” I replied. San Francisco, 2004.
  35. In SF, I pretended not to know Kentaro’s name while we tried to form a gay vegan roommate setup. I was jealous—he’d captured Eric’s affection. San Francisco, 2004.
  36. The LGBT radicals in SF hated me. I didn’t understand non-monogamy, had a crush on Lance, got an awful massage, and had my photo destroyed. San Francisco, 2004.
  37. Prof. Kees gave me a C on my ethics paper. A week later, she was run over by a truck. I still wish I could’ve appealed the grade. San Francisco, 2004.
  38. At Caspian restaurant, I mistook an older Persian man in a suit for the host and asked for a to-go menu. He was not amused. Orange County, 2004.
  39. I improvised a ghost costume with a blanket for a last-minute health class presentation and just spun in circles. San Francisco, 2004.
  40. I called someone’s religious group at SFSU “yuppie die-hards” on LiveJournal. San Francisco, 2004.
  41. Joan, a columnist at the SF Chronicle, called my poetry feature boring. A privileged boomer who resented her own job. I asked for a B and got a B-. San Francisco, 2005.
  42. An old white guy in Hawaii tried to bait me into arguing over his members-only tennis court. Maui, 2005.
  43. I got bored during *Syriana* and made my friend Kym leave the movie. Orange County, 2005.
  44. I yelled at my roommate’s anarcho-communist band friends for being loud after their 924 Gilman show. It was 1 a.m. and I had school. San Francisco, 2005.
  45. I didn’t give my seat to an old woman on MUNI. Another woman glared at me the whole ride. My winter hat with a ball on top didn’t help. San Francisco, 2005.
  46. At a tattoo convention, I asked a guy how his painful session felt. He wanted me gone. San Francisco, 2005.
  47. I didn’t report a woman who pulled a knife on me. San Francisco, 2005.
  48. I hung photos at an art gallery and a classmate yelled at me for placing hers out of order. San Francisco, 2005.
  49. Angela, via Brian, complained that my Folsom Street Fair photo story played too fast. I told her to fix it. She sulked, I gave a fake apology, and got lectured about calling the team “my photographers.” San Francisco, 2005.
  50. I was insecure in my early 20s and agreed to a rooftop shoot. The photographer didn’t tell me I’d be paired with Jason—my lover’s lover. It was tense. He went shirtless; I declined. Someone questioned if we were allowed up there—I panicked and said no. Years later, someone said I appeared in the photographer’s book under the wrong name. San Francisco, 2005.
  51. I wasn’t a sex-worker-turned-revolutionary, so the Gay Shame organizer left me off the email list. San Francisco, 2004.
  52. Micah told me I had “demons,” instructed me to masturbate during phone sex, ghosted me, then reappeared to say I was part of a past he wanted to forget. Internet, 2005–2006.
  53. I barged into SF Weekly and Bay Guardian to ask for an internship. They sent out an editor—I had nothing to say. I didn’t get it. San Francisco, 2006.
  54. At SF State’s [X]press, conservative Kelly mocked my multimedia work. I supported Joe’s project on non-voters. She chimed in sarcastically: “Down with the man!” San Francisco, 2006.
  55. Prof. de Soto warned me that my behavior would hurt my art career. I had trashed Magnolia Editions, his friend’s gallery, which had badly printed my photos. Oakland & Internet, 2006–2008
  56. As a gallery admin, I called the Erlandsons for Marie. Their drugged-out Seuss obsession made me grateful for my cold, dysfunctional family. Laguna Beach, 2006.
  57. Peter, the prudiest gay I’d met besides myself, tattled on me to Paul for being short with an admin. Paul gave a reluctant lecture about “poor form.” Los Angeles, 2006.
  58. I was difficult with Bill when he asked too many tedious questions about building a website for his boutique journal. I got $1000. No journal. Los Angeles, 2006.
  59. Asked Kenn for an MFA rec. He rated me “average.” I’d given the Holistic Health department all my shiny photos, but hadn’t bonded with classmates who hated me for being a loud vegan with a laptop. San Francisco, 2006.
  60. Stephen wrote about me in his book “People I’ve Met From the Internet.” We tried hooking up—it was awkward. He got jealous in Laguna after accusing me of checking out a gym guy at Taco Loco. Los Angeles & Laguna Beach, 2007.
  61. I got kicked out of Real Food Daily for only ordering tea while waiting an hour for Elena, who wanted to use a two-for-one coupon just for herself. We both got asked to leave. Los Angeles, 2007.
  62. Vikram had a crush on me and asked me out on Valentine’s Day. I thought it was platonic. I rejected his kiss but kept the gift. Los Angeles, 2007.
  63. I ran from a police car trying to stop me and another driver. They stopped. I didn’t. I got away with it. Los Angeles, 2007.
  64. I chased a tow truck that had my car. Costa Mesa, 2007.
  65. A Cheesecake Factory waitress rolled her eyes when I asked for the manager. I got a free smoothie. Orange County, 2007.
  66. A Bobby Dorrance, who pronounced it “door,” got grossed out after I talked about my mom’s laxative abuse. Los Angeles, 2007.
  67. I begrudgingly built a website for Max Brooks, Mel Brooks’ son. Hated his “Zombie Survival Guide.” Sold his signed book and calendar for $35. Avoided his Greek wife. Los Angeles, 2007.
  68. Forced two girls to switch class sections because I didn’t want to lead back-to-back sessions. I was a bad TA with too many students. Santa Cruz, 2008.
  69. After selling a mattress, the buyer scolded me for carrying it too fast down the stairs. Santa Cruz, 2008.
  70. At MFA orientation, Prof. Morse avoided me, saying she’d rather talk to “that group over there.” Santa Cruz, 2008.
  71. A teen grimaced at me in C++ class when he caught me copying code. Orange County, 2008.
  72. I got caught twirling to Tori Amos’s “Raspberry Swirl.” Santa Cruz, 2008.
  73. I fired a handsome queer poet named Brian from my thesis committee. He asked for a one-on-one study at a café near his place but also acted like I was hitting on him. He once saw me in the bathroom and walked out. When my friend asked about it, he denied everything and called me “oblique.” Los Angeles, 2008.
  74. Lauren ghosted me for not answering her constant life questions. I tried to be physically available instead—with a hard erection. Marin County, 2008.
  75. A woman in my grad class with colorful glasses dismissed me. I brought up my Puerto Rican heritage—she wasn’t interested. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  76. Chris, now dead, once called me crazy and told people I had a big dick. He used to come fast, and I fell for him anyway. I regret calling him a douchebag before his death. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  77. Jessica stole my Arduino and stared me down while passing me as I hitchhiked. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  78. Cafe Brasil hung up on me when I tried to place a to-go order. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  79. A post office worker tried to upcharge me for using a reversed Priority Mail box. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  80. Elizabeth excluded my poem from her feminist weaving project, saying I should’ve collaged a man’s voice. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  81. A counselor called me “overly sensitive,” which made me feel exactly that. Santa Cruz, 2009.
  82. I sat at the high monks’ communal table at the Zen Center, ignoring hierarchy. San Francisco, 2009.
  83. Before my grandma’s funeral, I ordered the only vegan item—a sandwich with microwaved vegetables on dry bread. New Jersey, 2010.
  84. I let my sociopathic friend Kody catfish a guy pretending to be me. He sent me the guy’s unflattering nudes. Internet, 2010.
  85. EG publicly shamed me for giving too many A’s as her TA. She also skipped class when I lectured on my own work. Santa Cruz, 2010.
  86. “Veto to your manifest destiny,” I told Nick about his MFA project. A long fight followed. I preferred the internationals; the Americans were cliquey and idealistic. Santa Cruz, 2010.
  87. I said, “I have no soul” during a presentation. Santa Cruz, 2010.
  88. After watching Alex’s film with me in it, Prof. Gonzalez said one word: “privilege.” Santa Cruz, 2010.
  89. I felt ashamed that Irene, a queer film theorist, disliked me but liked my roommate Karl. After agreeing to be on my thesis committee, she decided I wasn’t “woke” enough—a white-looking cis gay man, clueless about gender fluidity. My thesis was a drag to read, half praised for its “unclear” style, half hated. I once told Irene Sharon also wrote unclearly—she said that was inappropriate. Santa Cruz, 2010.
  90. I had little respect in my grad program. I dated a former student, and DANM hoped I’d be a token LGBT artist making erotic queer media. Noah quit my committee two months before graduation because I wasn’t making interactive work. No one backed me up. Even people I liked defended him. Santa Cruz, 2010.
  91. Could’ve jumped off a rope with Jeremiah in Marin, but acted withdrawn and refused to join his friends drinking wine. Marin County, 2010.
  92. Jealous of Blake’s celebrity ties, I tried to impress him with a haiku. He blocked me. His friend Amy Winehouse died that summer. Venice, 2010.
  93. I treated Ayme terribly throughout the 2000s. I surprised her at work just to keep her emotionally stuck. Portland, 2010.
  94. During a depressed period at Dundalk College, I rocked back and forth so much one of the house owners installed blackout curtains to avoid seeing me. London, 2010–2011.
  95. Dundalk College held monthly vegan dinners. I was the token vegan dragged into exhausting, classist conversations—like one about selling my belongings on eBay. London, 2011
  96. Meredith, a dull flatmate who bleached her eyebrows, reacted to being ignored with microaggressions—once even taking back detergent she’d offered me. London, 2011.
  97. On a bad date in London, I told a homeless guy with an abscess I didn’t care. He tried to get a woman to fight me. London, 2011.
  98. I stole an Americano from a Goldsmiths café after being ignored by multiple staff. Only the barista chased me down. London, 2011.
  99. Blew off a Greek LiveJournal friend who was 10 minutes late to our meetup. No British SIM, no patience. Sent him a shitty message after he mildly called me out. London, 2011.
  100. Nela told me someone skipped my presentation upon learning it was mine. I only remember the insult, not the person. London, 2011.
  101. I insulted Prof. Upton’s students’ poetry and got kicked out of Writers Forum at Betsy Trotwood. London, 2011.
  102. I was more embarrassed by my sister’s public fall than concerned. Prague, 2011.
  103. A locksmith was furious I complained about a sticky key at my parents’ house. He stormed off without fixing it. Temecula, 2011.
  104. I once posted on Facebook that I’d fuck a guy until he squeaked. Internet, 2011.
  105. At Gay’s the Word in London, the guy told me no one would want to see my book of selfies. London, 2012.
  106. I shamed a shy OKCupid guy in a Yelp review, outing him at his job. Hollywood, 2012.
  107. A German guy hijacked Queer the Space at The Centre for Creative Collaboration, physically moving my art project. I tried to get him kicked out. London, 2012.
  108. Despite being attracted to Dexter and hooking up often, I was cruel about his dog, “Fat Toto,” and banned him from bringing it over. Los Angeles, 2013.
  109. Michael got upset when I said he and his fat dog both struggled up Griffith Park hill. Los Angeles, 2013.
  110. Years later, Dustin saw me working security at a country show after earning my Ph.D. Los Angeles, 2013.
  111. I pushed Christian to move elsewhere, even speaking to his potential roommates. I wasn’t ready to live with him. Los Angeles, 2013.
  112. I argued with Jos, a Fubar worker, on Grindr. He flaked on meeting at Silver Lake Reservoir after a long workout. I was confused by wanting a frenemy. Internet, 2013.
  113. A woman scolded me for not thanking an autistic woman who let me cut at 99 Cents Only Store. Silver Lake, 2013.
  114. Out of boredom in Temecula, I had a spiderweb tattooed near my elbow by an artist afraid of spiders. It became a metaphor for a prison block that never was. Temecula, 2013.
  115. I was banned from Art Fusion Galleries for talking back to the hostile gallery director. Miami, 2013.
  116. Mindy, a blonde Moby backup singer and bartender, thought I was stealing when I tried to fix her register. Tense from the start. Echo Park, 2013.
  117. As a guard, I lost my temper at a girl drinking in the parking lot. Echo Park, 2013.
  118. Darby, the bartender, was upset by something creepy I said. I don’t remember what I said—just that it was creepy. Echo Park, 2013.
  119. Ruth, my age, managed the bar where I worked security. Smart, could mix two drinks at once, but projected her insecurity onto staff. She had me written up for taking a Red Bull without asking. Echo Park, 2013–2015.
  120. Nils used me to get a job at my venue. I was jealous of his social finesse, but also disgusted by it. Echo Park, 2015–2018.
  121. I tutored a conservative Muslim woman who brought an escort to a hotel lobby. She blamed me for her missing navigation bar, argued, and left. She tried to withhold payment, but I won. That experience cemented my dislike of religious fundamentalism. Los Angeles, 2015.
  122. A woman walked away from buying a paint set because one watercolor pan fell out. Los Angeles, 2015.
  123. Read abstract poetry to a group of gay men who weren’t into it. West Hollywood, 2015.
  124. I was rejected from the Sex Positive Portland Meetup by Evelin for failing a quiz. I wrote a “hostile” email to the whole group. Internet, 2015.
  125. I yelled at a jogger in the bike lane on Sunset. He yelled back. At the next light, we stood silently side-by-side. Echo Park, 2015.
  126. On patio shifts as a security guard, things were peaceful—except when Roy came and loudly claimed I hated him. Echo Park, 2015–2016.
  127. A pushy OKCupid guy insisted it was okay if sparkly heels were mine. I declined his wine. Los Angeles, 2016.
  128. At a Faultline event, a rep from Out Magazine shoved an unwanted porn DVD at me. I later passed it off at a sex party, but the host Roger didn’t want it either. I was never invited back. Los Angeles, 2016.
  129. Porn actor Cody scolded me for not holding eye contact long enough. Los Angeles, 2016.
  130. At my first (and last) hackathon, my vague group project got called “cliché.” I told the critic his feedback sucked. Los Angeles, 2016.
  131. Couldn’t teach Javascript to a student pretending to be a beginner. I bluffed too. He eventually stopped pretending. North Hollywood, 2016.
  132. A tiny Two Boots manager scolded me for not clearing a path for her during a show. I just kept eating snacks. Echo Park, 2016.
  133. Cinnamon managed a fashion store I worked at. She was as miserable as her dying rescue dog and made everyone do customer service without hiring sales staff. I kept her away by mocking her favorite rescue animal. West Hollywood, 2016.
  134. At Art Basel, I was snubbed twice—once for not having shows, then by a Westside artist friend of Julia’s who attacked me for even being there. Miami and Los Angeles, 2016
  135. A sandwich shop worker got annoyed when I looked behind her iPad register. Los Angeles, 2017.
  136. An impatient guy corrected me on a stretching machine at Gold’s. I raised my voice to make him leave. Hollywood, 2017.
  137. A guy in a shiny black car chased me after I flipped him off for jaywalking. Los Angeles, 2017.
  138. The Gold’s Gym barista was rude after I pointed out he used whey instead of soy. Los Angeles, 2017.
  139. A guy at Gold’s Gym cut in front of me at the smoothie bar and said I wasn’t “present enough.” Los Angeles, 2017.
  140. I stared down an Indian woman until she used the public shower last. Barcelona, 2017.
  141. Mel wrote a passive-aggressive note to Christian after I removed my framed series “Sunspots” from her money-losing café. She hadn’t paid Christian and refused to face him. Los Angeles, 2017.
  142. “Glenthebookseller” charged me return shipping on an incomplete Spanish textbook, acting like it was my fault. Internet, 2017.
  143. Years later, talking to another bartender about moving to Europe, Mindy jumped in to boast about her trip there. Echo Park, 2018.
  144. At the Crossroads counter, I tried to suggest vegan spots to a girl asking the attendant—but she ignored me, assuming I was hitting on her. Los Angeles, 2018.
  145. I filmed a sex video with Rusty, the tattooed Gold’s Gym trainer, but couldn’t get hard. His impatience made it worse. I learned intimidation isn’t a turn-on. Los Angeles, 2018.
  146. The naked tantric yoga teacher in Madrid yelled when my nipple piercing bled—my partner had massaged me without oil, ruining the energy. My Spanish was poor, I felt awkward, and a day later, the teacher asked me to email the guy to reassure him. I blocked her. Madrid, 2018.
  147. The owner of Advanced Translation Service accused me of “threatening” a Yelp review after charging $100 for a Spanish translation that wasn’t certified. She refused a refund and sent me a condescending email. I got it redone for $25. Los Angeles, 2018.
  148. A straight guy hit on me to get a video of a hip-hop band. I gave him a handjob, didn’t give him the video, and he ghosted me. Echo Park, 2018.
  149. A forward South African guy Christian met on Grindr asked creepy questions about Jeffree. He’d researched me. I still engaged. Los Angeles, 2018.
  150. A comedy writer from The Hatchery was offended I didn’t research her. I ghosted her after she got clingy about staying at my place and baking bread. Los Angeles, 2018.
  151. I stole a towel from the dirty pile at Sweatbox after they tried to charge me a pound for one. Got a blowjob, then left. London, 2018.
  152. A Craigslist buyer broke into my building and lectured me about a mirror’s material. Los Angeles, 2018.
  153. Olga, a school admin in Madrid, was hostile when I requested time off. I shut down communication. Madrid, 2018–2019
  154. Got kicked out of an apartment for not being dominant enough with two submissive guys in chastity belts. Hollywood, 2019.
  155. A blond guy declined mutual masturbation after teasing in the steam room. Hollywood, 2019.
  156. I hit on a bald Freddie Mercury impersonator dating Isaiah. He later said I got “too close” without consent. Los Angeles, 2019.
  157. I limped into Gold’s Gym showers bleeding from a bike crash. Despite the pain, I was still horny—but blood doesn’t substitute for sexual tension. Hollywood, 2019.
  158. I had sex with Christian on the couch while Raúl slept upstairs. I returned to Raúl—he turned away. He hadn’t been asleep. Madrid, 2019.
  159. My second grader snapped at me in Spanish after I asked her group to stay quiet while recording audio. Madrid, 2019.
  160. Prof. Frances-Benitez made fast quips in Spanish, which her favorites—like Halasius—would echo. I felt like an outsider in her Advanced Spanish 5 class. Still, I learned a lot. Los Angeles, 2019.
  161. I flipped the wrong circuit breakers and pissed off my neighbor. Surprised he was from Ohio—he acted like a local. Los Angeles, 2019.
  162. I refuse to acknowledge “Dalmatian girl” in my dog-friendly building. I was bent out of shape passing someone at 2am after work. She ignores me too. Los Angeles, 2019.
  163. I called a Spanish buyer “pasivo agresivo” after he left a long one-star review over parade traffic. Madrid, 2019.
  164. A Fiverr user refused to help with a Spanish translation, citing academic policy. I called her perezosa. Internet, 2019.
  165. Paid Stuart $50 to post on my Instagram. Got banned—twice. Internet, 2019.
  166. I should’ve reported the drunk teacher I worked with but was too apathetic. Madrid, 2019.
  167. I hooked up with someone who didn’t speak English. My Spanish wasn’t good enough to say, “I’m coming.” All I understood was “currando.” Madrid, 2020.
  168. During COVID, a social worker argued with me about my overdue food stamp form. Los Angeles, 2020.
  169. A Bluehost surveyor saw my dick pics by mistake when I accidentally posted the hyperlink. He never said anything. Internet, 2020.
  170. I jerked off in front of a German hostel bunkmate who judged me for not going to a sex club. He worked there. Berlin, 2020.
  171. A Grindr guy warned Christian that if I got a motorcycle, I’d die. He even sent him a life insurance link. Internet, 2021.
  172. I got kicked out of Ralph’s after yelling at a guard who made me leave my backpack. Los Angeles, 2021.
  173. I fought a homeless drunk over a cold bottle of champagne at Ralphs. Los Angeles, 2022.