It’s my second summer in San Francisco. The cable car bell dings in a rhythmic pulse, and I hear it grinding as it treks up Powell Street and toward Fisherman’s Wharf. It’s hotter today than the usual sixty-four degrees.
I sit on a rooftop patio and type away on my relic, the AlphaSmart 3000. Three AAA batteries power this twenty-ish-year-old typewriter with a small screen that fits only four lines.
Clack clack clack, “A dream pulls away and shimmers across sunshine, fluttering off into the wind and forgotten forever.”
Another fragment of an abstract poem. Another piece of rubbish. Backspace. No, it’s not that bad for a poem written during a summer in San Francisco.
Second Summer in San Francisco: What I’m Doing
It’s my second summer in San Francisco. My nights are a mix of wandering around downtown at night, visiting the Ferry Building on the weekends for lunch at Gott’s, and aimlessly writing at as many cafes as possible in North Beach, all between the hours when I’m not working or freelancing or entertaining family who come to visit.
Feel free to check out more of my posts about San Francisco?
The middle of days is the hardest to get through when the sun’s high in the sky and I can’t make out a trace of fog near Sutro Tower.
“A body hollowed out. The soul travels across lands and floats, as a spectator, over a sleeping man nestled in a grimy corner of a closed shop.”
Reflecting on San Francisco in the Summer
A pale blue sky creates a contrasting backdrop for the various buildings packed tightly together. The monstrously tall art deco building on Sutter Street houses offices for doctors, dentists, and medical practitioners. Famous hotels (I don’t think I need to name them here) surround Union Square. And an assortment of apartment buildings with their architecture spanning over the last hundred years.
A mosaic of decades, lives, and worlds, neatly woven together in a tapestry that makes this summer day in San Francisco. I revel in the textures, the colors that span from beiges to bloody-copper reds, the light teals, and the sweet warmth of pale pink.
Writing About the City and Creative Non-Fiction
Maybe I’m romanticizing San Francisco a bit this summer. The city, its glamor, and all the history. Perhaps it’s just the ruminations of a snobby solitary writer who’s got nothing better to do than write pure gibberish and call it…writing?
I don’t know. I really don’t. I’m ready to give up tackling creative non-fiction, making parts and pieces of my life a form of reader entertainment. Isn’t it what you’re looking for? A peek inside someone else’s brain, mind, life?
A Southwest Airlines plane streaks overhead. It’s going west, or maybe it’ll make a large circle out of view and head north, south, or even east?
Car horns honk and blare. It’s getting busy down there.
A crow caws and swoops past.
This summer in San Francisco feels different; I’m more comfortable in the city. And my partner and I have our habits; the places we like to go to, the stores, shops, and routines. It felt like home from day one, but now I think we’ve really settled in.
I’ll enjoy this summer, write, read the stack of books piled by the bed, scribble out some poems, maybe a short story, and edit my novel. It’ll be a writer’s summer.
Enjoyed this post? Feel free to read Living in San Francisco: A Writer Reflects on Life or I Love Living in San Francisco: A Writer’s Reflection ? Let me know what you think! Leave a comment below and let’s chat!
