Polk’s Finest
2 min readMar 17, 2019
Brunson, he’s as regular as a faithful secretary. Always sitting on a seat under the bus shelter on Polk and Sacramento with a can of Steel Reserve in one hand and the cheapest cigar he can find in the other. Sometimes he’ll gather a few hanger-ons around him: a squirrely, ravished guy in a wrecked leather jacket who lends him sips off his handheld plastic Popov bottle, or some dipshit in spats who thinks he’s George Moscone risen from the dead. They sit and…
