## Vines and Mirrors Reading on the Muni. A serious parade of doctors and intellectuals. The American actress can't stand it; it's all wrong. She takes the lead. A French doctor of linguistics grabs her by the wrist. *This is a parade for doctors! Not a publicity stunt for movie stars!* It's all wrong. Trapped in the linguist's grip. *What the hell do you think you're doing? You won't get anywhere without stars!* Simultaneously, they grasp the impasse. *Merde*. The actress bursts into tears. If consciousness is a mirror, where is Narcissus? I'm going to Alamo square today. I felt really strongly about it. Off at Noe. The train was crowded, a bunch of us get off. We're a herd of yuppies. Maybe 15 of us. We all go through Duboce Park. I take the rear. I don't mind standing in crowds, but for some reason walking in them is hard for me. At the first fork, slightly more than half of them go right. I was going to go that way originally, but I think I'll go left. The rest of us continue. The new path slopes to the right, past the community center. I look up at it. The front wall is a terracotta colour. Not bricks though; it's smooth, not sure what it's made of. There are letters hanging there, exactly the same shade as the wall behind them. *The American dream starts with its neighbourhoods*. More than half the herd break left up the ally next to the building. The rest of us continue straight. One guy takes accessibility ramp. I take the stairs. It's a nice looking community. I walk past coloured houses, shrubs. A woman is sitting on her front step, laughing about something on a phone call. It sounds like joyful surprise. Turn right. An indigo planter. No plants in it. A mini cooper in British racing green. A lady walking her dog. He's a golden mix, short hair. Her ponytail is what caught my eye. It's the precise length that her gait seems to hit the resonant frequency. It swings back and forth, making comical arcs in time with her steps. More than the dog's tail. Does she feel that? It will stop happening in a month or so when her hair is a bit longer. Left. Up towards Haight. A guy and a girl are walking behind me. Talking about tech. Layoffs. Her company is doing layoffs. She wants to quit anyway, but doesn't want to disrespect the employees that are getting laid off. I'm waiting for the crossing signal. *Bad management?* He asks. I get the signal and I cross. *I'm in management...* I hear her say. Their voices fall out of focus. I've heard that Hinge is pretty hit or miss around here. Coming up to Oak. This is a really nice place. I look at the buildings on the other three corners. Tall, narrow, tiles. Blue, angular, squares. Mauve, cylindrical turret windows. That looks like a great reading spot. All the houses here have facades. I guess it would be weird not to have one at this point. They're often five or six feet shorter than they look. I cross. I spot the trees in Alamo square. The parks here are interesting. It's like stepping into a different biome, or though a portal of some kind. I sit at a picnic bench overlooking the city. I can see the rippling waves of San Francisco. Feel them? Flotsam of pink and yellow houses, twinkling stars across the bay. Life is beautiful near the fault line. I close my eyes and I hear birds and children. It feels like I am remembering something. When you close your eyes, everything gets closer. Every sound is equally immediate. Open your eyes, and everything returns to a place. This place is different. Opening them again, the rolling city is still right here, sparkling closer than my eyes.