We can sing it. It roams and pings in our brain back and forth when we think about this city we live in. But when you think about what you hear… not what you feel up your neck as the pacific breeze smacks you; nor the smell(another entry… when I get over my allergies).

Yes, you may want to believe from every street window in the city— a verberation of a cable car. Maybe its the harbor seal—- belching or groaning. Red steaming crabs cracking between steel claws…? No— you hear the dead silence of Outer Richmond’s deserted street as it soaks in all that mist and fog and mildew. Yes, you can hear the lichen grow every 1/16th of an inch… the mist on your car.

You hear, your shoes falling apart from the very soles of your feet as you hike up North Beach. My craigslist transaction is happening, where? …and for how much?

You sit on the Geary 38, you bagged a Nelson ceiling lamp… you hear your heart beating rapidly. You cradle your new find, like a new born baby. You hover over it— not letting anyone even so much as breathe on it. You imagine hearing the froth from your latte. Well done! You deserve that shot. Shots for everyone! Hanging over you, the tired and weary… yearning to be free. Its 9: 34pm and you are getting nods and street cred. I am getting so excited over my venture. Selfie… please! I can’t even think right, I can’t even write correctly.

My precious… precious.