August and Everything After
A short love letter based around fall time and feeling some feels
Originally posted to unrefinedgrime.com with more photos
For the first time in my life I’m living in a spot with dim sum around the corner. It’s not particularly good, but it’s dim sum. Cruising around by bike the streets are familiar and comforting. And if I go 10 blocks out, the really good dim sum starts.
I was sitting out on a streetside parklet and started talking to a woman who told me she lived in the area from ‘97-’03. A veteran of sorts, we chatted about the hood, the way she remembered things versus how they are now. To her it was fancier these days, compared to the way she remembered it in her mind. To me it was almost exactly as I recalled from past times, one of the slowest changing neighborhoods in the city. I mentioned that things seem to always be changing, especially in San Francisco, but the Sunset to me seems to be pretty consistent in it’s character. I think she agreed a little bit.
I get these wild romantic notions about late nights in the city, assisted by psychedelics, and bright neon lights, leading to rolling around on wet grass in the early morning, but I do my best to find romance in everyday stuff. Like cooking up some pasta with a few friends, all hovering around the kitchen on lazy Friday nights. Drinking some wine and leaning back on couch cushions, looking around the room, deciding quickly that good company and home cooked meals are plenty romantic. The cherry on top is walking across the street to the neighborhood country bar, a shot of tequila and some darts, then hobbling home, eyes wide despite it getting late, to bake some cookies and keep the night alive for a while longer.
Tupac speaks to me, so does a shivering wind at my face and a slight movement of clouds revealing the sun. Living two blocks from the park, I’ve got the biggest backyard in the world, filled to the edges with pathways leading to Rhododendron parks, tea gardens and roller skating squares. And far from fully mapped in my mind. Can you say that much?
My bike’s old, from 1984 and rusted in ways. Yesterday a girl pulled up to me on the street around 15th and shouted, “I like your bike.” I looked up and saw she had the same one, down to the rusted peeling aqua colored Schwinn frame. We raced to the next stoplight and exchanged a few words. She asked me if she could take a picture of it because she’d never seen another before. I was impressed that she didn’t have a helmet. We crossed my street and I turned right, looking back to see her riding away, but not before turning back.
In the tape deck
Photo/ vid links