At twilight, I could hear someone practicing a trombone. They occasionally managed a melody, but mostly just it was just poot-poot-poot. It’s not like hearing a lonely saxophone waft across the city, but it’s kind of pleasant.
At 10 last night there were fireworks going off in the neighborhood. This morning the garbage truck woke me. The garbage guys are actually pretty quiet– the move to plastic cans has changed their noise level. But the truck has a distinctive rumble, and anyway I might as well get up and slide you all a glean before the holiday. I still love this city, despite the occasional disturbing event
… there is a strange comfort in being surrounded by familiar people you don’t know.
Poet George Oppen wrote of the shipwreck of the singular, about the pleasure of being numerous, being part of a city. He lived in San Francisco, and this is the only book of his that is available in print; but it holds his complete works and it is amazing. I highly recommend it.
strangely enough none of his poems are online. not that I can find, anyhow…