"Do you know San Francisco?" The crackhead had trapped Erik and I in our MUNI seats, forced by politeness and morbid curiousity to listen to a twenty minute monologue surrounding the topics of cocaine, adultery and how awful he found the music of Johnny Cash.
I'd say the answer is up for debate. Do I know San Francisco?
Well, I know a lot about Jefferson Elementary School in the Sunset neighborhood where I spent my days of innocence and kickball. I know a bunch about the playgrounds in Golden Gate Park and the famous wooden bridge at the Japanese Tea Gardens, it's arch so steep that steps and handholds are built into it so accident-prone tourists and small children don't tumble into the stream below. I know what it's like at Ocean Beach when it's foggy and cold (which is to say, always), but you want to feel the waves so bad you splash into them anyways, winter coat and parents' yelps and all.
the Sunset, at Sunset. You didn't really want to see what it
looks like, did you?
I know about the Cliff House and how it used to have the penny arcade where frightening mechanical gypsies will tell your fortune for a coin. I know about Louie's, the diner overlooking the Sutro Baths that has the best minestrone soup this side of anywhere. I know about which bookstores have sufficient kid's sections and I know about the Chinese New Year's parade and I know about dim sum and Ethiopian food and baklava.
People ask me where I'm from, and I guess this is one of the possible answers, I mean it's where I spent my childhood. But what about where I was born? (Austin) What about where I came of age? (holla, City of Roses!) It's a tough call.
Yesterday I was walking down Van Ness, just out of a successful meet and greet with some people in the know and I felt city and it felt good to be on my way to coffee shop on Polk Street and then off to North Beach for happy hour with friends. Like, now I'm getting somewhere. And I know this.
But I don't know some things and they're kind of a big deal. I don't know the cheapest bars. I don't know the good yoga studios. I don't know the bus routes. I don't know how to find a job. I don't know who's looking for a room mate. I have no idea how I'm gonna pay rent in this city, one of the most expensive places to live in the world. And nope, not a clue on how I'm gonna get my bike up all these friggin' hills.
So I didn't really know how to answer our fine, stimulated friend. Do I know San Francisco... like, have we met or are we intimate? I opened my mouth to start prattling on in navel-gazey kind of way.
Gotta be quick on the uptake with these guys.
"I mean, like, you know Pill Corner? Down by the Civic Center. Where you can buy all them pills. Man, they be getting shot out there, man! Man, the otherdayIwasoverthereandtherewasthisonedude..."
The show went on. And we got to see his prison tattoos, super sick.
So do I know San Francisco? Can I get back to you on that one? I'll have in answer for you in a couple months.
Respectfully Yours,
Ms. Caitlin Byrd Donohue (Big Shot of Tomorrow)
Oddly similiar to many conversations with the crack laden I have had. For some reason baked cocaine forces people to ask you to quantify your knowledge. This is often followed by a request for a cigarette or perhaps money for more crack. Be thankful you got free entertainment on the stinky city bus.
ReplyDeleteSorry I missed you while you was in Portland.
butts
Wise words, my Jojo. I actually had a great time listening to this gent... until I became nauseous. Next time I'll urge my boyfriend to restrain his compliments when he sees someone carrying a massive blunt and a bottle of grape juice. Although, you know, it'll be hard.
ReplyDeleteMiss having your sassy little comments in person. big hugs