The only good thing left in San Francisco is the North Beach First Friday Poetry Crawl. It is 2024, and someone hollers rhapsodic into a microphone as a saxophone squeals and a crowd of artists and their admirers snap their fingers. It could be 1964 or 1981 or sometime in the seventies or nineties or last Read More
Category: Columns
the new year
I have never had a January 1st that I’ve allowed to come and go without an odd, heavy feeling being present. I have cheered at midnight, I have kissed at midnight, I have cried at midnight. The following day, no matter the way the day, and the year, start, I have the same feeling. I Read More