Nightime. Up on the motel roof again. Russian Hill is dark. The buildings on the crest were the last ones to see sunlight, even after the sun went below the Presidio from where I was. The buildings stood out so beautiful and orange. There are only three or four ones of any size. Such is the scale of this City.
In the embers of the day over the rooftops and I turn my gaze, trying to absorb this the real reality of San Francisco, the real terrain in its true contours. I close my eyes and imagine it and then reopen, and look around like a merry-go-round, an all-purpose camera obscura way of grabing the information.
After the sun goes down, then it is the time to shine for the Bridge. It's backlit/sidelit from behind the Presidio. It sort of glows a little, like little strings of orangeness all of sudden come to life.
Across the street, on the top of the motel there is an iPhone 5 billboard, the color of watermelon, illuminated lusciously against the background of the district just to the south, on the flank of the hill where Van Ness descends down towards the Marina.
The computer is much smaller than it used to be, a long time ago.
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