It’s hot in the city. Summer finally catches up. It will be hot and still for the next two weeks. Wind and fog and rain again for the next fifty.

Dazed and confused, I round the corner and push toward the bus stop. Some sort of co-op or commune is on the corner. I don’t know what it is. Lots of plants on the sidewalk, lots of people in the building. Usually, a man waters the plants every morning while his dog pants in the sun. Today, a group of men load large Tupperware bins into the bed of a silver Chevy pick-up. They’ve been hard at it since early morning, are sweaty with work. Another man stands near the open garage door. Crisp blond hair and wrap-around sun glasses. I’m about to say hi when I read his black shirt. I almost stop walking. It isn’t a shirt, it’s a vest. A black vest with many pockets and weapons and bright yellow letters spelling those dreaded words, “Federal Agent.”

Five 5-Fultons in a row because the universe sends a message. “Get out. Get the fuck out. Now.”

––

I rode a cable car the other day. I don’t usually ride cable cars because they cost five dollars and go nowhere. But two friends recently moved up to that Nob Hill and I was all the way out in East Bay and had to stop by their place to pick up my phone. The quickest route was BART to Embarcadero Station and from there a California Trolley up to Hyde and a short walk. I had a fast pass, which cost me 45-fucking-dollars, but got me on everything Muni—including the cable cars—for free. So what the fuck, I took a cable car.

It was a glorious ride. All the tourists stay on the Powell-Hyde line, so I had a bench all to myself and stretched out to watch California drop away from me. But my meditation was interrupted by police cars and ambulances and fire trucks screaming by. A trolley falling towards California had rear-ended a limo. And there could be no more peace.

––

They had to order parts for my bike from as far away as Iowa. My poor bike. You’ll be mine again by the beginning of next week. Fuck you, Muni. (Except when it rains. Forgive me, Muni, please, when it rains.)