San Francisco -- Part 2

Back in Burlingame and still nursing a fever, I'm still crazy enough to not want to waste my last day in California. The train to SF looked quite ominous in the distance...

Downtown SF on Market waiting for a streetcar to take me to Castro. This one, unfortunately, is going the wrong way...

...and disappears into the distance.

Where then, you may ask, are the Castro pictures? Let me tell you son. If it's pictures of weirdly-dressed people, sex toys, and bondage gear that you're looking for, I've got that back home. Instead, let me tell you about this random person who caught my eye sitting across the aisle in the Muni. She was adjusting her makeup and I zoomed in, surreptiously. She then settled back, waiting for her stop, giving me time to compose...

...this shot. I love this picture. I wish I could find a word that encapsulates all that's written on her face. And then...

She left. She got off at the Embarcadero and walked out of my life forever and has no idea that a print of a picture stolen on the subway now forms part of a work of art that Kate has put together. Isn't life strange and wonderful?

Byron picked up my 'flu. He looks pretty wrecked because he is. I had gotten back to Burlingame and was regaling him with my tale of stolen pictures on subways when...

Ralf arrived... Between us, we devoured Byron's cheese-free pizza (which was actually surprisingly nice) and then headed off for an espresso at the Starbucks down the road.

I was pissed off at the wooden coffee stirrers in lieu of teaspoons. Not surprisingly, the picture has a French-coffee-shop feel to it. I insisted that we go in search of grappa...

...which we found at an Italian restaurant. And very good it was too. Byron and I thought that this was one of life's niceties -- you have a craving for something and are able to find it in a remote part of the world.

I was in mid-sneeze while packing the following morning when Byron shot this pic with his regular point-and-shoot (which he later scanned and emailed to me). Don't ask. I mean, even Superman wears his underwear on the outside...