The Drum Circle of Market Street

The phone in my room rang at 10:30 this morning. It was the Chinese woman down at the front desk. She wanted to know if I was checking out or staying on. They have a big turnover on these rooms. High demand, high competition.

I told her I was checking out. At 11 I went down and turned the remote control and the card key into her, and then schlepped three blocks down Lombard to the corner of Laguna, where I'd seen the coin laundry the night before.

The Magnolia Laundry---I went inside the small laundrette. It was narrow with big glass windows. A pair of old Chinese woen stood talking just inside the door. A couple young white women were doing loads. About half the driers were in operation.

No restroom. A true old school laundry. I didn't even need to ask about wi-fi, but I checked anyway. Looking down the long list of routers made me laugh. One was called: "No Free Wi-fi, Cheapskate!!!"

While I did a load of laundry, I stood by the table near the back interior window, that lead to the residence probably, I worked at the day job using my smartphone to send emails, then made code fixes on my local machine. I could upload them later.

At one point, the only other person in the front room was a young white woman with leather boots and big glasses who seemed to be grading papers. She looked like she was a women's studies major at some point in her career. At one point a young Chinese woman came in. I didn't hear what the white woman asked her, but she replied rather loudly, "There are no restrooms here. And I don't work here." She emphasized that in a way that made me think she was trying to imply "shame on you for assuming I work here just because I'm Chinese." It made me laugh to overhear this.

When my clothes were dry I repacked the backpack neatly and then hiked briskly along Bay Street past sunny Marina Park to Van Ness, and then along Van Ness south through the blocks as it climbs the long slow incline, a beautiful wide boulevard flanked by businesses useful to the residents who live nearby.

I stopped at coffeeshop that had wi-fi, bough a croissant and cup of joe, and caught up on work by sending some follow-up emails with my laptop. When I was well rested I walked the rest of the way to the crest of the hill, past the auto museum of the Academy of Art University, to California Street, where I crossed Van Ness caught the cable car in front of the Starbucks.

There was ample seating. I had to lean forward on the outward-facing bench with my backpack, and steadied my big Post-it Easel with my legs around a metal pole, almost losing it once out onto the seat.

But the easel stayed in my grip. I rode the cable car to the end of the line at Drumm, where I got out and bought a Vietnamese baguette sandwich. I ate on the corner in front of the shop watching the cops direct traffic coming off Market by the Wells Fargo (there's a Wells Fargo---and a Starbucks---at the end of every cable car line, it seems).

It was a little past two in the afternoon. The light on the buildings above Market gave the contours an enhanced dimensionality that time of day. Unable to leave yet, I lingered on a bench across from the old PG&E building, drinking a hot ginger chai from a food cart vendor.

It was a perfect three days in the City. Now it was time to go. I picked up my bags, and after breaking change for a twenty inside a coffeeshop, I went back out onto the ample sidewalk along Market and then I went down into the hole into the ground.