It was foggy and in the distance Coit
Tower was shrouded in mist. I felt the droplets of moisture on my
sandaled feet, wondering if I could stand the dreary winter that
awaited me in San Francisco.
Finally, loaded with tourists, the
cable car started its noisy and rickety travel through the streets,
following the Powell/Mason route. Every once in a while the car would
stop at an intersection and I made a mental note about how to get off
if I needed to.
Two men (always men, never women) ran
the car -- one to control the cable car, another acting as conductor
and to signal stops and go-aheads. The fare for one-way was $7.00 but
I had my Clipper card which was scanned by the conductor.
Foreigners in the cable car from other
countries spoke in their own language (I guessed from Europe or maybe
Scandinavia somewhere). A couple next to me sat while the man told
his girlfriend of all the places that had changed on the route since
he last lived around North Beach area.
He pointed to a house guarded by a
stone entryway with wooded steps leading up to the lofty residence.
"I almost got a cottage there for $2,600." He said to her.
I suppose with the current rent
situation that was considered cheap. My friend had a cottage in
Cohasset for around $400. More than six times this rent, a similar
space in North Beach, San Francisco was available, surrounded by
"spectacular views". I don't think I could ever afford such
a place and by the time I'm older (if I'm ever retired), it would
probably go for $6,000 or more. I've already seen rent that high
here.
Taking the cable car is a different
experience than the bus or walking. I was sitting out in the open
facing the side where one unfortunate slip could gravely injure me. I
remember my Grandfather saying how treacherous the cable cars used to
be back in his day when he worked in San Francisco.
"A woman was killed..." he
said, "... ran over by the car. She didn't survive. Terrible,
just terrible." Grandma heard this and shook her head.
On a lighter note, Grandpa told another
story, about a friend who had some trouble with the cable car. The
conductor told him to sign his name on the card -- and then (to his
friend's shock), on the back of the card was a release note -- saying
the cable car was not responsible for damages!
San Francisco has always been a shady
town, grown up from gambling, prostitution and the false prospect of
gold.
I nervously awaited my turn to get off
-- what if the cable car didn't stop? But somehow I managed when the
car stopped for other passengers to get on.
I walked along the street, seeing the
tall skyscrapers covered in fog, obscuring the bright orange lights.
Past Joice street I walked then had the urge to go down a deserted
alleyway, surrounded by mist and shadows. I looked up into the night
sky, watching foggy clouds brush by a full moon.
"So that was it," I thought,
"It's the full moon calling out to me in the city shrouded by
mist." I couldn't resist the urge to stay out all night. I
wanted to, I really did. "Here I am in San Francisco, on this
beautiful night, the last full moon of the summer and I'm throwing it
away..." But sometimes you can't give in to what you want. I had
just gotten over being sick and needed to conserve my energy.
I walked home.
Then suddenly, a black homeless man
came out of the alleyway. I couldn't hear all he said as he mumbled a
phrase (perhaps in another language?).
"The spirit," I heard him say
at last, "It's the spirit..."
What he meant by that I'm not sure.
Possibly it was the night, the spirit of the night.
