Thursday
Left work at two o’clock to take speedy shuttle van to the airport.

My plane was a little late, but they pad the estimated travel times so overall I ended up getting to San Francisco on time. I was seated next to the only infant on the flight, a 10-month-old redhead named Zoe. She smiled and vocalized constantly, never fussed or cried, and was generally a perfect little baby throughout. My baby moved around a little bit during the flight. I mostly just watched the TV on the back of the seat ahead of mine (the google map is great fun), talked to Zoe’s mother, and snacked on garlic pumpkin seeds.

Landed smoothly and made my way to BART. Naturally, there was a non-moving line full of confused tourists trying to buy tickets from the same inscrutable or broken machines I remember from my last time here. Guy in front of me took almost five fucking minutes to buy his ticket. I think I had mine in hand within about 45 seconds.

Rode the train north to downtown. In Daly City, the ground became suddenly carpeted with a layer of fog so dense and dark that the cars on the street below all turned their headlights on. I began to wonder if I ought to have brought my coat after all, instead of just a thin hoodie. Hmm. But, upon reaching Powell and stepping off the escalator, I saw that San Francisco’s sky was still blue. But a sharp wind was blowing. I turned west and saw what I expected to see — gray fingers of fog climbing over the hills.

I pulled my little suitcase up Powell to my hotel, suddenly a tourist in “my” town. I checked in and went to my tiny but cute room, noting its high ceiling, green walls, framed botanical prints, and four fat white pillows laid across the top of the bed. My tall windows had a view of an adjacent concrete wall, which is a good thing; it means a quiet and dark night’s sleep. I don’t need a view out of my hotel room unless I am twelve stories up or something.

I needed dinner. I looked at the room service menu. Expensive, and not what I really wanted. Plus I needed a bottle of water and snacks for waking up. So I put on my hoodie and trusty messenger bag, and walked back down Powell. The streets were crowded, it was 8:30. I knew everything would still be open. SF, you are a real city, I am sorry for what I said about you before.

Ended up at the Westfield food court — I could get something quick and not terrible. Kind of craved a Beard Papa cream puff, but was good and got a roast beef sandwich and fries. Didn’t finish the fries. Grabbed a liter of water and an apple at the Bristol Farms grocery, then back out to Market Street and its wailing sirens and beggars and odors. I decided to get back to my room as fast as I could. Tired.

Upon arrival, I did something I’ve been missing for a very very long while: I watched the Giants game. They were playing here in the city. I removed my socks and shoes and lay diagonally across the queen bed, stared up at the ceiling fan, and felt the baby turning inside me.

(photo I found online of a room identical to mine)

Next: Friday.