It was on Union Street, in San Francisco, in fact;
I was walking with a guy now dead, who isn't, from
those days. It was dark, fairly late at night, and we were
forging along in the half-cool bay air. He was smoking
a cigarette, and little was said. There were no carnival
rides in those days - everything was dead serious.
People who had passed through town, they'd all already
left, with their little sundry stories to tell, those big cars
they all dragged around in - too big, actually for Lombard
Street - which was a running joke. Probably the only thing
we ever laughed at. The Art Institute and Coit Tower, the
Embarcadero, Fred Martin and Bob Mahaffey, I thought
they were all funny in their way. Get me some coffee.
Get me some Chinese food from Edsel Ford Wong.
I had a room at a little, sailor's hotel down by the piers -
dim light, no showers, a few women always hanging around.
A couple of southern types lived nearby, always hopping up
cars with loud pipes and extra carburetion or something.
It was pretty hard even just to get decent coffee - late
nights, early mornings, everything just passed.
The guy with the Chinese restaurant,
'Edsel Ford Wong' - yeah, that was
really his name.