Gee, in many modern novels a "story" includes lots of direct commentary by the author. Writing the story is part of the story, so to speak... Anyway, the first paragraph is S --> Z. But it's true that the first paragraph would never be heard around a campfire.
That's pretty unoriginal LOL, but I had never walked up the east face of Telegraph Hill, and 36 years after arriving in SF, I found myself falling in love with her yet again. She ages well.
On the way through Chinatown, the orange bird gave me a pass, which I surrendered to Maggie after walking stupidly down Buchanan instead of cutting around by Webster. She was very cool. Asked me if she could read my map. I almost regretted handing her the Get Out Of Jail Free card.
The Morton Salt Girl was so well in character she looked entirely natural standing there in the shopping aisle with an open umbrella. The store was fun. I had forgotten how good the cruising is at that CALA.
The person on Parker had some likable Buddhist art, and I longed to play her old upright piano, but it was obviously not the right time. She gave me a huge glass of water that tasted wonderful.
Halfway through the Presidio, my mental alarm went off, saying the municipal towing pirates were eyeing my car greedily, so I dropped out of the game and took the 1 California back to the Embarcadero, where the car was waiting like a waif, fragile in an emptiness of vacated parking spaces. It was a relief to find her before the City pounced.
Then I drove out to the Wave Organ and dropped into a couple of good conversations.
Thank you for a terrific evening!