Walking to BART

waiting for the 1

I’ve been trying to transit (walk/bart/shuttle) to my client’s at least once a week. This week it’ll be two out of three. I walk down to Market Street, about 20-25 minutes, then BART for 20, then Emery Go Round shuttle for 20. For someone with acute motion sickness that’s three nauseas in one morning. It hasn’t been that bad. I managed to read a lot on the way home the other day. Even read while walking to lunch, which solicited a lot of “don’t read while walking,” comments from pedestrians.

I love walking through North Beach. In the morning things are pretty real. The tourists are still wandering around confused with their maps, but the store owners are spending precious hours before the lunch crowd cleaning mats or painting over things, loading in new Italian water through the sidewalk openings, old friends are visiting with bags of bread from the bakery.

I can’t resist Brioche Bakery and keep stopping in for a brioche & cappuccino. They changed the way they make it. No longer tall like a chef’s hat but squashed flat like a scone.

I was passed by two Russian guys wearing identical outfits: shaved heads, little caps, cotton skinny pants and white t-shirts. Then they stopped at the bakery and waved at the guy who works there. As I got my order, realized he has a Russian accent too. Girl behind me in line was talking about her play, to a suit who must have been her actor, because asked her: “OK, after I f** Tasha, why am I covered with blood?” “Because you killed her.” How bad is that play that you can’t figure out a murder…