SF Mem 9

This isn't a memory because this is now. I'm back where I was when I first started blogging. Back at Ritual drinking french-pressed coffee and using their spotty wireless. Surprised to find it's packed with people either grinding away at their laptops or after-dinner chatting—it's half past eight in the evening, middle of the week, the yellowish overhead lights and they're playing early stereolab--heavy on the droning guitars and moog, a distorted calliope. The cute hapa dyke barrista--you know the one-- she got her hair done but now she looks too coifed as opposed to somewhere between tussled and bedhead. I left Berkeley at about noon today on a mission to get to baker beach before it was completely fogged over. But by the time I got to the richmond it was pretty overcast. Always the hopeful fool, I rode the bike out to baker beach anyway hoping for a break in the fog. And as I turned off Lake onto 25th ave heading down hill, the sun broke through. I had forgotten that baker beach, the way it's tucked in the corner of the city before the bridge, the fog whips around it, a confluence of different wind fronts, leaving it fairly sunny--enough to get a tan--eventhough the neighboring beaches, china beach, fort point are fogged over. There was barely anybody there, a handful of nudists camped out just before the rocks. I tanned my bare ass; I think I'm slightly sunburned.