typically, i slept through carl-erik and his roommates' various alarm clocks, as they gingerly stepped on me while fumbling their way out the door to class. a few hours later i was roused by the hot late morning sun that streamed unrelentingly through the windows. invariably, a cornucopia of breakfast yummies awaited my indulgence, thanks to the adept cafeteria smuggling efforts of carl-erik. while feasting on a variety of bagels, muffins, and fresh fruit, i frequently listened to carl-erik's vast collection of garage and rockabilly records, or paged thoughtfully through his various textbooks on organic chemistry or modern literary theory.
   taking advantage of the late morning emptiness of the dormitory facilities, i washed and brushed my face with slow deliberation. daily rituals are far more enjoyable when savored, and not rushed by the pressures of time. with the morning muck cleared from my palate, and the crust from my eyes vanquished, i emerged from Spens Black Hall with nothing to direct my actions, but whim and caprice.
   meandering down Telegraph, i traded morning pleasantries with the local homeless, many of whom i had grown affectionately fond of. along with the gutterpunks, the homeless were a mainstay on Telegraph. harmless and eccentric, they often provided me many fascinating hours of story and advice on life, while at the same time surreptiously suggesting a donation for their plight.
   the gutterpunks were another intriguing demographic of the Avenue. they segregated themselves into their distinct cliques, and seemed to have a healthy competition of who could sport the most facial tattos and most pounds of metal in their flesh.    if i was still hungry, i would help myself to the sumptious baskets of delicious samples at Noah's Bagels, or maybe scrounge around for orts of food in one of the many cafes around Berkeley. sometimes i peeked at the various goods being hawked by the hippies, who made their living on the Avenue. Amoeba records was always a welcomed morning stop, as their record bins would sometimes yield 7"s of obscure chicago punk rock bands, that made me melancholy for home. there were a million things to do on Telegraph, but the best was simply shuffling up and down the Avenue leisurely soaking up the warm weather and lazy ambiance.
   inevitably, i ended up at Cody's bookstore, where i immersed myself in their shelves upon shelves of magazines, books, and literature. i spent a lot of time in their sunny atrium perusing their fanzine selection, and keeping up with the latest issues of Cometbus, Dishwasher, Jerseybeat, and Big Brother.