1) Awake well before 7 AM, and a slow start to the day on the 27th floor. Coffee, breakfast croissant, and some lazy social media.
2) "Lucy, come along or the better part of the day will be lost!" as Maggie Smith said in A Room With a View. I admit I was thrown by the news that the Pride parade is really Sunday and not Saturday. Resolved to address some important travel shopping, I laid my plans to end up in the Castro and Dolores Park.
3) First stop: a remoter-than-it-appeared camera store several blocks away. The One Important Thing I left at home this trip was my camera charger, so a new battery was necessary. Memories of Dudoit's Camera Shop in Lake Charles, and its particular smell.
4) I do not think a dog made that thing on the sidewalk. #eeyew
5) On the streetcar up Market Street (not to be confused with a cable car) I witnessed a Man of Approximately My Age wearing a transparent shirt of machine-made pink lace and matching shorts. Needless to say his white briefs were completely unconcealed. And I thought, "If you're really going to make that work, honey, you need to hem those shorts up about four inches."
6) Brunch at the Cove across Castro Street from the theatre with two local friends. Good company, good talk, good NY Benedict.
7) More good chat as the afternoon continued, after which I drifted to Dolores Park. Now I have no idea why, on Pride weekend and on a Saturday, I thought Dolores Park would be a reasonable place to sack out and write. The park was jammed, nearly every cubic inch of it, with revelers of all ages, races, creeds, and conditions. enjoying loud music, shirtlessness, and refreshments both culinary and herbal. I hiked up to the top of the park and dumped myself on a bench to observe the passing throng.
8) There are so many T-shirts in San Francisco that can be worn ONLY in San Francisco.
9) Ambling back from the park, I ducked into a store full of Eastern clothing and left with two shirts.
10) And ambling out of the clothing store, I witnessed a large crowd and a large fire truck on Castro Street just down from the theatre. Fire! Three firemen were seen on the second floor fire escape, operating around a clearly scorched window frame. The way smoke came out occasionally, I was sure the smoke was coming from within the walls of the building - but I'm no expert.
11) Recalling a bookstore on Market Street, I began the long long walk down that fabled street, only to find no bookstore, no bookstore, no bookstore, and again, no bookstore. And that's a long walk! I ducked into a little coffee shop for a revivifying decaf (even though we all know there's no such thing as decaf). An urban mini-drama: finding a forgotten smartphone in the restroom. I turned it in to the counterman ("Can you imagine, speaking French to a counterman at Schrafft's?") and he said "I've always wanted one!" I hope that was a joke.
12) After a brief break at the home of Mine Host, we headed off for an early dinner (since I was starving anyway). Mr. Tipple's Recording Studio is entered down an interior ramp and through a velvet curtain. Their signature cocktail is a sazerac, and what I call the Mildred Pierce Special (chicken and waffles) is on the hors d'oeuvres menu. As it was very very early it was very very quiet. And my sazerac was very very good.
13) The bartender's tattoo . . . I couldn't quite tell if it was a stylized cannabis leaf or something to do with the Jetsons. He liked the second version best.
14) Even though it's comparatively early, I'm in for the night, writing. And I hope a good night's sleep is in order. This trip my body simply hasn't embraced West Coast Time.