Ergo...

Carl street near Cole

San Francisco: day 8
I've decided that the Americanos are stronger from Lava Java and the lattes are creamier from Reverie Cafe. The places are equidistant and both open by 6am, so I guess it just depends on my mood. What this dump of a rooming house lacks in conveniences, this city makes up for a hundredfold.

To be fair, the cast of characters who come and go in this building make for great off-duty writing. Like the man in #1, who's been here since before the last earthquake and drinks orange spice tea with his scotch every evening*. Or the super-nice dude in #6 who works as a tennis teacher and plays tennis on his days off. He is very tanned. There are also a few doctors on rotation at SF something-or-other, so I've no worries if I get sick.

Another draft and transcribe day. I knew my colleagues rocked, but I never knew how much. I interviewed them for chapter four of the diss before I left. These discussions are a pleasure to write up. It's shocking how much talent flows in the casual circuits of creative labour. Disheartening too. No surprise it's being called 'passionate work' and 'free labour' in the same articles I'm reading.

Later I walked up Stanyan to Fulton and across to see St. Ignatius Church. It's magnificently lit up at night. Then up Masonic to Turk, where I was treated to stellar views of the city and the Bay, plus a pick-up truck fairly studded with Lego. Down Divisadero to Page and back across to the Panhandle. I could have walked all evening and only returned to my room because I was dying for the loo.

Have a great week everyone.

* No, ~lrw, he does not mix these--I asked. He intersperses cups of tea with classes of scotch so he "doesn't get too drunk."