San Francisco Blues

I remember one morning back in October, back when I was living in San Francisco, I had to leave my dorm at 4:45 am to catch the 5 am BART. I was taking the BART to SFO, so I could fly home and surprise my VHS friends. I know, there were far too many acronyms in that last sentence. Anyways, I left my dorm at 4:45 am, all bundled up in my thick black coat and wearing my Beatle boots with my small black luggage in tow. I gave an acknowledgment nod to the guy working the front desk of our dorm building, and he gave one back. I'd never been out walking around in the city this early in the morning [or this late at night, however you decide to look at it], and I was a little weary of doing so. My dorm wasn't exactly in the best of neighborhoods, and walking around during the day always proposed a slight risk, I could only imagine what it would be like at this hour. I took a deep breath and opened up the glass doors of my dorm building to be greeted by the cold and brisk night/morning air. I was surprised at what I saw.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing and no one. Only streetlights and taillights. There were hardly any people. I started walking down Sutter St. towards Powell, my Beatle boots clicking along the cement, and was filled with extreme wonderment. I could not believe how deserted it was and how safe I felt. My rolling suitcase clicked along with my boots, and almost echoed within these empty and dimly lit streets. I tell ya, Union Square is beautiful when it is deserted. It's beautiful anyway, especially at night when all the lights are on and the decorations in the department stores are aglow, but there is no comparison to what it's like when the noise stops, the people stop, and it just sits there as still as can be. Nothing moves. It was the first time I'd been able to walk down Sutter St. and not be hassled. It was amazing.

I wrote hundreds of poems in my head about its beauty as soon as I reached the BART station, but they were of course lost in the depths of my mind as the hours wore on. Before that point, I hadn't really enjoyed the city and could only ever think about coming home, but as soon as that happened...well, that was the first time I genuinely felt an attachment to the city, where it genuinely impressed me. I'd been doing all the touristy things before that [Union Square, Nob Hill, Haight-Ashbury, Balmy Alley], and they were all amazing, and I did enjoy wandering about those places, but it wasn't until that cold morning in October that I actually saw the city for what it was. And in the coming months my attachment to it would grow more and more, with a little help from my friends.

I always found it ironic that the first time I fell in love with San Francisco was when I was trying to escape it. Maybe it wasn't even the city, maybe it was just the encompassing feeling I had of being like a rolling stone, out on my own, wandering the streets of this city I barely know with belongings in tow, and not knowing what to expect. I could've gone anywhere, or at least that was how I felt. I did after all have a very set destination [a $125 plane ticket destination], but I felt like I could go anywhere. And after that night, I was no longer afraid of the city. In the coming months I would make several more trips by myself, similar to this one, but never of the same grandeur. I'd make tons of trips to USF by myself, a half hour bus ride across town on one of the shadiest buses in all of San Francisco. Walking home from work by myself at 11 pm every Friday and Saturday. Those moments became so freeing. I never felt rushed or scared, I only ever felt relaxed and content. I have a feeling I will wander back there someday.

"It's too gray,
I'm too cold--
I wanta go Golden,
That's my home."

Thanks, Jack.