Horns honking, tires screeching, voices screaming ... so I definitely wasn’t dreaming that the San Francisco Giants had made it to the World Series. Mission Street was an impromptu streaming parade of cars and people decked out in Giants paraphernalia. Two fists with thumbs up reached toward me from the front passenger window of an approaching truck as I stood at a stop light. I smiled at the enthusiastic whooper, who proceeded to stick the entire upper half of his body outside the window. At that moment the light turned green, and the vehicle sped away, the sound of its blaring horn fading in the distance. Two thoughts crossed my mind. First, I sure hope somebody pulled that tipsy fellow back inside the truck. And second, I better hurry home before the happy madness turns into chaos. Seven minutes and two blocks later, I was turning the key to unlock the door of my cozy second-floor apartment. Home, sweet home!
Mission Street by day
The streets of my neighborhood have become familiar. I know how long it takes to walk from my apartment to my favorite bodega on 26th and Mission, my favorite bakery (Tartine) on 18th and Guerrero, and my favorite burrito on 24th and Valencia (fish burrito at Papalote). I know the idiosyncrasies of individual streets: which side is shadiest at different times of the day, where the hills rise and fall, and what sort of folk I most likely will encounter at a particular intersection. Like New York City, San Francisco is a walking town, and for this I am grateful. A section of road as small as three or four blocks becomes a sensory rich world when traveled on foot. Little changes in window displays of boutique clothing shops warrant a thoughtful moment of reflection, “Would I wear that ... and in that color?” The emanating smell of fresh coffee from a quaint cafe filled with laptops and their owners lure me to the open door, but I continually resist the urge to splurge by holding off until the next cafe one block down--throw a stone in any direction in my neighborhood and most likely you’ll hit a wi-fi cafe, each as cute as a button. And then the people ... these friendly fellow walkers will catch your eye, smile, and make you wonder if you’ve just forgotten their names and that if you gave it a few minutes you would be able to distinctly place them in a past era of your life.
The present era ... three and a half months a San Franciscan ... and a Giants fan. Sometimes I can hardly believe it. And in those moments I do feel like I am dreaming.
