I was at the bank yesterday. The bank and I are getting real friendly. I heard a voice behind me, "Have you been to San Francisco?" My head whips around, yes, that man is definitely talking to me. It is, of course, the vinyl black & white bag on my shoulder that prompted his observation. So I smile, and affirm his speculation, and he talks. About how he's never been, but he's heard it's lovely, just a wonderful climate, such a wonderful corner of the world.
He talks and I think of what Oscar Wilde said, "It is an odd thing, but every one who disappears is said to be seen at San Francisco. It must be a delightful city, and possess all the attractions of the next world." He asks me if it's true what he's heard, and I tell him the week in June I spent there was the coldest June of my life, but that the clement year-round weather is the reason it's the homeless capital of the States. It's my turn at the counter now, but before I go he asks why I was there, I tell him I went with my youth group to do homeless ministry.
And then I walk into a pole.
I wonder if there's any San Francisco in my future. I only spent six days there, but I feel as though I know it on an intimate level, and I miss it. [Have I forgotten . . . ?] Boston, DC, Providence, Williamsburg, I love me some East Coast. No place has charmed me more than New England and my own backyard. But it's possible I left a little of my heart in San Francisco.
I know the kind of people who talk to strangers at the bank about places they've never been. In my cynicism I try not to get excited. But oh it was nice to have a conversation, even if he was only talking to hear his own voice!