tonight, san francisco had its way with us, throwing us about its streets and and between it's buildings, tall and majestic.

was serenaded by an angel faced boy with a miles davis tshirt and a sax. almost bought a gardenia for 50 cents. drank a coke slurpee with jon, clowning the whole time, he dragging on his kool, me making faces at the bitch in front of me who kept looking at me and getting an expression on her face as if she were smelling onions.

smashed together in a trolley car, leading us up her long streets, like a lover paying special attention to a sighing partner's thighs, the world was a loud symphony of children crying and foreign voices, grinding machine gears and nervous laughter.

i watched everything fall behind us and thought to myself, "this world, it's like every story you've ever read, you know. watch yourself, girl, you have a tendency to try to skip to the end, especially when it's getting good. sit in it." so i listened to the child cry, and it made me turn my face away. this was no attention crying, this was crying of a truly miserable child who didn't have the words to say what it needed.

and, i understood. i envied its emotional abandon.

we walked down california to grant, leaning back at obtuse angles to counterbalance the grade.

as we walked through chinatown, i picked up the same perfect slippers at nearly every shop we passed, and then set them down, determined to not be that girl.

crossed through to north beach and ate at the stinking rose. had criminal amounts of garlic and held hands. jon was hit on by the waiter (because my brother is a looker) and so i tipped the man big. drank mixed drinks and beer, walked out full and fragrant.

weaved through the people up to cafe grecco, indulged in tiramisu and a vanilla latte. watched the people walk by. marveled that there are women that are dumb enough to wear high heels or platform heels in the city with her steep inclines, and worse, declines. (ladies, really: if you have to be concerned about your ankles snapping in half should you mis-step AND/OR you cannot run from potential attackers/religious solicitors with ease DO NOT WEAR THOSE SHOES.) smoked cigarettes and listened to other people's conversations.

went to city lights and bought some books (a children's book, a collection of stories by raymond carver and a book by don delillo since i have never read him). was disappointed that they did not have "a literate passion", a collection of letters between henry miller and anais nin. i have wanted that book forever and ever.

walked down down down down, over over over over and back to the train.

leaned against each other in our seat in the train, still full from our meal. jon fell asleep and i listened to the man across the aisle muttering to himself:

"take her down to the ganges.
hold her hand.
i was gonna die
i was gonna die, man.
the white smoke
take her down to the ganges
that's what he said
and her hand!
the white smoke.
that's what he said, man."

over and over, not in a song or any rhythm, rather like he was trying to not forget something. a tme, a place, a dream. he scratched at the side of his head and watched the world fly by as he spoke. he got up at his stop and kept reminding himself as he left.

i fell asleep somewhere in oakland, and woke up again before we went through the caldecott. it was vivid, i woke up with my heart pounding. but as soon as i jerked my head up, everything that pushed me awake was gone.

now, my feet are aching, and for some reason my hips are too. i need a good rub for both.

jon just left to go to a friend's house, and before he left, he kissed my cheek and i thanked him for tonight.

it's as if finally sf is becoming my city, her lines are becoming more familiar to me. i am understanding her curves, listening to her cues, getting to know the best way to follow her lead to get where i want to go. it feels good, like i am taking command, i am not so lost.

and she is beautiful.