I ride San Francisco’s MUNI train, the L line, toward its termination point at Embarcadero station, in a car that’s surprisingly empty for a midmorning Thursday, given this cutback economy.
At the Van Ness station, a group of older teens boards the train. I notice them only because one announces, “I sit here. I sit here,” as she plops down on a seat that faces the aisle. (more…)
Yesterday, I arrived at Point Reyes National Seashore in northern California. Point Reyes is a scenic—and in places, quite rugged—slice of coastland that follows the San Andreas Fault just north of San Francisco.
Since my arrival, I’ve seen jackrabbits and great egrets and black-tailed deer and wild turkeys and hummingbirds and raccoons and red-winged blackbirds. (more…)
I stand in Guerneville’s only laundromat, in front of one of those front-load washing machines that promises to get my clothes cleaner and whiter than the kind with the lid on top. I toss in my clothes, lock the door, and insert most of my quarters. Fourteen, to be exact—$3.50 to wash one load.
I step over to the cash machine to retrieve more quarters for the second load. I reach into my pocket for my wallet. My pocket is empty. (more…)
At a small café in San Francisco’s Mission District, wedged between a taqueria and dry cleaner, Grace has been serving eggs and hash browns and coffee for about a hundred years.
She stands at five-feet-four, minus a couple inches for her perpetual stoop. When she walks, she never lifts her feet off the floor. It’s more a sleep-walker’s shuffle—a mix between indifference and the result of a stout, squat body that no longer wants to move. (more…)