Baked goods in a glass case on a countertop at a bakery next to an open door with morning sunlight coming through

The city is starting to become differently legible to me, and it feels spooky but also reassuring. Memories attach like muscles to a map, and then six different stories sit up during a jaunt to a bistro. There’s the stairs with the car, the park where it still happens, the street where the drill took place. Normal, but wild.

Partly sunny blue sky over billboards nearby and close seen from an elevated freeway in front of a low city skyline

On the verge of several new things, it felt good to go do old things, like getting back in the saddle of the bike at home, or getting going early enough to hit the donut shop, or lift a lot of boxes in the search for one particular thing.

Pigeons fan out across an alley as two people on opposite sides stand in sideways sunlight

Even a little break in the rain since midweek was welcome, and it felt like you could feel the spring in some people’s steps around public streets in the city today.

Traffic signals and street lamps beside a highway overcrossing, silhouetted against a golden western horizon under medium gray clouds

When you conjoin the messenger and the mine owner up in the sky, it’s only fitting to find them in front of you as well, Not only in the environment, power outages notwithstanding, but in people as well. What a week, and still only Monday.

A rainy twilit skyline as seen from an elevated highway

The story always changes when you’re in it, when shivering the side of your vehicle as you’re crossing a bridge upper deck, watching 30-ft traffic signs side to side or just nervously navigating a neighborhood with night falling and time running out on a shift. When life is a movie, it’s not the plot that’s the problem. It’s the scenery.

A small black cat flops down and backbend stretches atop a wooden surface floor under bright overhead lights

There’s rain again, tomorrow and tomorrow, and there’s no census to capture every drop that flies past my window at work or that lands on the patio bannister or the roof at home. But I’ll see some of them again, maybe over by the greenway in the creek, or in the mist in highway lanes. Maybe they’ll see me too.

A neon sign glows atop a marquee sign outside a small movie theater

Ten years to make, and still right on time, resonant in multiple directions, turning the faces on the street not far from the theater in bright sunlight suddenly suspect, if not all too susceptible.

A vehicle on fire sends up a small column of dark smoke above backed up westbound Interstate 80 lanes along the incline of the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.

Sun and rain tried trading places, trickling down at odd times today, with just enough energy to get in each other’s way, showcase the other’s work while stealing the spotlight. Fair amounts are due to linger through next Sunday’s larger deluge.

I got up early, hoping to beat the rush at the first of the day’s rains. There was enough time for me to make it to the donut shop over in Noe Valley and back before starting my shift. Empty streets were empty all the way through the Mission and uphill, the car windshield got lightly spritzed and the shop clerk was generous.

A large independent movie theater with an audience listening to panelists after a documentary screening

It wasn’t a dream, but it had its own logic: memory playing back on a loop, narrative laying out battles between good and evil with high stakes; familiar faces not met in person in months or even years, changed by time or age or the perspective of light moving on a large screen before a roomful of people who knew or didn’t know exactly how it all went down.