A Thursday in June
Thursday, June 19th, 2008 – San Francisco
Thursday night I spent the night in San Francisco. About one block from fishermen's wharf, and could hear the famous sea sounds of San Francisco. Perhaps not so different than any pacific port, but this night was strangely warm. People were walking around this often very freezing place with shorts on. It was such a pleasant change in visual composition.
We walked all over the piers and watched the spray paint artist on the sidewalks create celestial images. There use to be only one guy on the corner painting, but now there were several. There was even a female artist making live spray paint art. It was quite exciting to see. I don’t know if I would ever put one of those pieces in my house, but I could imagine seeing one of those pieces 50 years from now and it would immediately take me back to fisherman’s’ wharf of san Francisco.
We then went over to North Beach and I had a delicious glass of pinot grigio and a cheesy artichoky pizza. We checked out all of the great local Italians and the family like atmosphere they created everywhere. We walked all the way down to Vesuvios and went to the same spot I’ve been going to since I was eighteen. There is a round table in the far corner of the second floor. There are usually two chairs near the table and a big window that opens straight onto Columbus Avenue. I have been sitting there for years. I’ve journaled there for years. Did my college homework there. Read new books from city lights bookstore nearby. Said some of my most desperate prayers. And I have also said some of my most thankful prayers. I had another glass of pinot grigio as I watched the people go by.
There is a jazz club across the street. Behind that jazz spot is an alley way that leads to another venue that plays jazz. By the time I got adjusted at my table and sat at my window on the 2nd floor of Vesuvios, I notcied the bands were loading up their vehicles across the street. One guy would stand by each van and light a cig while the rest of the crew would load it all up. Soon couples walked out hand in hand outside of the venues like honey bees flying back to their combs. Some walking down the street. Other running across the street between green lights. Others whistling for a taxi. Some were standing outside and just enjoying the 90+ degree weather.
It was such a strangely warm night that we decided to walk all the way back to our hotel room. Each block exposing something new about San Francisco. Each block exposed a group of people gathering. We passed by the homeless that slept at the footsteps of the greatest home in the entire world. The church. Yet its doors were closed to them. We passed by a group of Rastafarian and they were engaged in a huge conversation. We walked into a liquor store to purchase some water and butter cups and as they were about to close, the local winos were making their last purchases for the night.
I got back to my room. Watched some TV. Had some memorable laughs and inside jokes that are still making me laugh just thinking about them now. And around 3am I drifted to sleep.
Somewhere in the midst of my sleep, when my hands are on my side, and the pillow stiffly hugging my ears and neck I begin to dream. A vivid dream. A sparkling dream. A memorable dream.
I should have written it down the minute I woke up but I’ll try to recall as much of it as I can now. . .
Thursday night I spent the night in San Francisco. About one block from fishermen's wharf, and could hear the famous sea sounds of San Francisco. Perhaps not so different than any pacific port, but this night was strangely warm. People were walking around this often very freezing place with shorts on. It was such a pleasant change in visual composition.
We walked all over the piers and watched the spray paint artist on the sidewalks create celestial images. There use to be only one guy on the corner painting, but now there were several. There was even a female artist making live spray paint art. It was quite exciting to see. I don’t know if I would ever put one of those pieces in my house, but I could imagine seeing one of those pieces 50 years from now and it would immediately take me back to fisherman’s’ wharf of san Francisco.
We then went over to North Beach and I had a delicious glass of pinot grigio and a cheesy artichoky pizza. We checked out all of the great local Italians and the family like atmosphere they created everywhere. We walked all the way down to Vesuvios and went to the same spot I’ve been going to since I was eighteen. There is a round table in the far corner of the second floor. There are usually two chairs near the table and a big window that opens straight onto Columbus Avenue. I have been sitting there for years. I’ve journaled there for years. Did my college homework there. Read new books from city lights bookstore nearby. Said some of my most desperate prayers. And I have also said some of my most thankful prayers. I had another glass of pinot grigio as I watched the people go by.
There is a jazz club across the street. Behind that jazz spot is an alley way that leads to another venue that plays jazz. By the time I got adjusted at my table and sat at my window on the 2nd floor of Vesuvios, I notcied the bands were loading up their vehicles across the street. One guy would stand by each van and light a cig while the rest of the crew would load it all up. Soon couples walked out hand in hand outside of the venues like honey bees flying back to their combs. Some walking down the street. Other running across the street between green lights. Others whistling for a taxi. Some were standing outside and just enjoying the 90+ degree weather.
It was such a strangely warm night that we decided to walk all the way back to our hotel room. Each block exposing something new about San Francisco. Each block exposed a group of people gathering. We passed by the homeless that slept at the footsteps of the greatest home in the entire world. The church. Yet its doors were closed to them. We passed by a group of Rastafarian and they were engaged in a huge conversation. We walked into a liquor store to purchase some water and butter cups and as they were about to close, the local winos were making their last purchases for the night.
I got back to my room. Watched some TV. Had some memorable laughs and inside jokes that are still making me laugh just thinking about them now. And around 3am I drifted to sleep.
Somewhere in the midst of my sleep, when my hands are on my side, and the pillow stiffly hugging my ears and neck I begin to dream. A vivid dream. A sparkling dream. A memorable dream.
I should have written it down the minute I woke up but I’ll try to recall as much of it as I can now. . .
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