I think i can sit here. you won't turn me away now, will you? my breakfast is pre-bought (a decent maple bar) and a sticky tall cup of cold Starbucks. and i should know better! Starbucks! when La Boulange is up the block or the door behind me to Arlequin is open and the cafe breathes down my neck.
i need to sit and eat. sit and think. take out this pen and place these thoughts to this paper. the steel table at which i am seated is courtesy of San Francisco, not Arlequin, trying to pass public space as private "garden seating." i'm still thinking this, admiring the convenience for the City to further capitalize on being this entity of a Paris of the West-- scattered bozes of flora and concrete slivers echo a modest Euro landscape for cafe convenience, sit anywhere you like and think and just fucking seize this day!
Hayes Valley was alwasy that seedy spot out here you heard rumors-- whispers-- about. at least it was around my freshman year. there was the 21 Muni, only a few streets down the th mainstream line of the 5 Fulton. but you never went to Hayes Valley.
I left a crumb of a donut on the ledge of the table, and the little sandy finch trusted me. there is a trust out here in you, Francisco. inante and genuine, gentleness and acceptance-- it all thrives here, not just Hayes. Even the highest streets of Pacific Heights to the cracked buildings within the Tenderloin (yes, surprises me too). everyone tries to be nice. we've allowed so much to happen. so many to live here. and we never complain. you remain humble.
Paris
P.S. look at this bright yellow leaf! i looked up from the paper and there it was. i like to think it came out of nowhere, compared to just having fallen. fall is coming. quicker here than anywhere else in the Bay.
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