There is a quietly pulsing part of San Francisco that I just love.
It exists in the wide spaces between post burning man decompression parties at one end and determinedly hipster soy lattes at the other. To find it, walk out the doors of those raw vegan cafes, walls resplendent with jute bags holding grain. Look past the overgrown hair, cute laptops, and caffeinated hand gestures of all those earnest, embryonic iPhone millionaires.
Slip through a costume shop, seductive pink wigs and all, and ignore those girls clustered around a joint. Avoid the unwashed dreadlocks of the amateur poet (and professional consultant) as he sits scribbling aphorisms on napkins for his admiring date. Try not to disturb the couple playing chess in a corner, the tension in their eyes evidently flowing from a source very distant from the game.
Forget the morning bike rides along the bay and into the mountains that will take your breath away, and not because of the cold. Smile vacantly at the young mothers pushing their strollers past a sequence of coffee shops, each brimming with ‘character’, overflowing with bagels. Push away images of a tiny garage hosting an art exhibition, a student concert and a blossoming love affair all at the same time.
Go beyond the activism and the flag waving – always rainbow, sometimes green. Stare through the crowds in an otherwise cookie cutter pub… girl boy girl girl girl boy dog boy girl girl…yes you did see that and no you can’t turn that way again.
Escape those distractions and walk to the intersection at 24th, past the street musician with the badly tuned guitar, and also the one with the ethereal sounding violin. Skip down the stairs that smell of ammonia, of drunk nights, of agony and ecstasy and half digested food. When you hear the tone, you have reached your destination.
8 car train in 3 minutes.
