Eye of the Beheld

A few months ago I had the opportunity to travel with Greg on a business trip to San Francisco. Neither of us had been. We fantasized about making out on a trolley car.


Day One, Greg had to work. I walked half the city. There is a reason you don't see folks walking alongside trolley cars in photos of San Fran.  You see them attached to the thing as if a giant picked it up, rolled it in caramel and dipped it in a bowl of people. Then it goes horizontal to vertical and the caramel people are holding on for dear life. Like Rose on the top of the Titanic. Standing next to this, I was climbing the sidewalk at such an angle I swear I could have puckered my lips and kissed the sidewalk without moving my neck.


I found my way across the city to a giant, phallic Rook called the Coit Tower.  Inside its walls are colorful murals once painted by local artists of the day. Each pictorial told a story. You could focus on different faces and wonder about the 'scene'.  


I'm still trying to figure out why Frida Kahlo is so disgusted with Mr. Bean's Dad's lunch order.