the city is best dressed in air, cold, and at night. lights are more vivid. shadows, traffic, shop fronts are in sharp relief and outlined like a negative in the dark. walking in it, as opposed to driving, i can slow down, see things that are easily missed. the body demands to be used. it needs to move. and as i do so certainly lines of poems, written and yet to be written, snatches of songs, phrases and scenes from films flicker in the mind's eye as i walk my city's streets at night.

i love it. california is a state that developed around the car. it is not made for walking. but if you are lucky there are neighborhoods, sections of town, even a whole city like san francisco, that demand that you park and walk these city blocks.

like tonight, friday evening, when midtown is jumping with people ready for the weekend. the streets are crawling with singles and couples going to and fro. the clubs of lavender heights, the gay section of town, have their doors open to its early patrons, and already the music is high.

i pass a building with tall windows. i look inside and i see a couple of patrick nagel prints framed and hanging from the wall. and i thought, oh shit. i've not seen any nagels since the 1980s when that quintessential illustrator for Playboy was all the rage. my first serious girlfriend was nuts about his work. i bought her a book of his work. it's easy to make a judgment about it. but what the fuck. what i used to find erotic, and that was just a smidgen, i see as dated and cold. it's crap, indeed. but what is taste anyway.

and the people you see and meet. a few blocks from my house, waiting for the light to change, a young man dressed in fashionably torn jeans, a soul patch on his chin, pushing his mountain bike, turns to me and says, 'hey brother. good evening. jesus loves you.' he keeps up with me for a block emphatic in his salvation. i ask when was he saved. 'oh, about 5 weeks ago. take care brother,' and he stops to talk about jesus' love to a camp of street people. and i think, why not. whatever works. love is love, after all.

love is love
after all