And then after work could go to the karaoke bar I preferred, early. And could maybe get to sing though would fill up quick! And was harder to sing on Friday and Saturday than other days.
Where then could stay later. But eventually head home, and yup, would at times find interesting conversations with folks hanging around outside the now gone Transbay Terminal. Where actually I went through daily till it was gone, as lived on Treasure Island, and you crossed the Bay Bridge into what is now commonly called SoMa, which is where I worked, when was working. Got laid off as have brought up before, and eventually ended up leaving San Francisco, in March 2012.
Copying over to here with no editing.
Ideas and the City:
There is a relief in walking away quietly, if metaphorically, when those ideas that pummeled your world view so fiercely, can be tamed by your human reality. Will not think about you now, can mutter, if not in words then in actions, like at a bar where can survey your fellow humans. Having fun then becomes the work that matters, especially after work that felt like it did not. Ideas push.
You can push back, and think about the day-job tomorrow. Do not drink too much.
Was a reality back then, in San Francisco, when balanced sanity like walking a tightrope, or so told myself. What others might think? Need we bother? Like I'd really ask. The alcohol might dull others but it simply slowed me down and I'd ponder that odd reality as realized that usually people look like they're moving in slow motion to me. If I let that idea dominate while ponder if it's true.
Looking at the bartender, another drink arrives. They know me well.
Such were the nights that could happen on a Thursday. And be out of the bar before 10 pm? Or definitely in time to be home by midnight, and to sleep rapidly. To get up, and go to the day-job where data entry would give me numbers to play. The relentless typing of number after number was restful in and of itself. Sometimes the ideas would wish to come out as well. But concentrate.
Am I accurate? Of course. The astonishing accuracy needed by people who do data entry might puzzle others. The kind of area where the naive think computers could take over or do a better job, but human beings can push to near perfection. My accuracy is of course at the level of a person working at a high level corporation, who literally helps millions of dollars find their homes.
The alcohol slowed me down for a night, but effects were gone by the next day. I rarely got hangovers.
Is that a blessing or an invitation? After work, would be back at the bar early, as was a karaoke bar then might manage to sing something, as Friday was one of the busiest nights. Sometimes would simply go elsewhere.
The ideas come back. They call again against my reality. They promise things to me.
A world they offer. I consider later in the night. Looking out at the lights of San Francisco in the wee morning, with the other denizens of the alternate city, when most have gone on, and a few partiers may mix with those going to work, or coming home from work, or the homeless who gather near the now gone Transbay terminal station and talk. They talk about life and dreams and freedom and I wonder about mine.
Sometimes could feel like the city would sing to me then. That San Francisco was the best friend who understood the dreams and the nightmares and accepted both. There was a freshness to the night, and a crispness to the thought, as ideas were peaceful as well, like sleeping dogs, waiting later for their day.
The Muni 108 would finally arrive and would ride back to Treasure Island. Back across the Bay Bridge to that island in the bay, by the City by the Bay. A cycle completed.
My ideas, would find me again.
James Harris
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