Walking in San Francisco.

I always found myself walking around day or night in San Francisco. I liked the way the fog hugged the street lamps, the many different colored houses all squished together, or just any place that I’ve stored a memory in my brain, which was quite frequent being that San Francisco is so fucking small. These walks became my affordable therapy sessions. It was a time for me to visualize and reflect on all the things I had been through lately, how to grow from them, or just a walk to appreciate my home town. And the beauty of it.

I begin a walk, usually through Golden Gate Park which was my favored starting point. My family lived in home's 1 block from the park pretty much my entire life. I felt as though I escaped into the trees and the grass. Especially when I did the occasional mushroom trip.

I pass the Rose Garden and look at the sidewalk where I muster up a memory of me and my Twin KT - 6 years old watching a race full of crazed inhabitants parading through the heart of San Francisco.

The Bay to Breakers, an annual event in the city where locals run from the Bay Bridge all the way to Ocean Beach. Some would be actual marathon runners at the beginning then the other 99% of attendees was the parade of people in wild costumes or no clothes at all. It was like San Francisco got two Halloween’s and it was celebrated by participants and onlookers. A true San Francisco Holiday. The neighborhood homes that ran alongside the event provided water and snacks for the attendees, lemonade stands were set up by kids where drunken attendees would buy dixie cups for 25 cents making the kids feel a part of the magic. Small businesses came out and sold merchandise and food, it felt more like a celebration of San Francisco being San Francisco, rather than a race.

Sitting on the stoop of JFK drive at the Rose Garden a man in a Tiki Mask and a Tiki Grass skirt with the front part cut out approaches KT and I with his dick and balls flapping up and down and in directions I didn’t know genitalia could swing, we naturally screamed in horror. I looked up to see my parents reaction and they just laughed. Ah, It was meant to be funny. Not sexual. Looking back on it I’m glad my parents didn’t cancel this person because they understood not everything was meant to be serious or malicious.

The day I took part in this magical day, I dressed up as Merida the Scottish Disney Princess from Brave. I got a ratted red colored curly wig, a green boat neck velvet dress from goodwill, and a stick from Golden Gate Park which I wrapped twine around, creating a Bow. At 8am I was launching imaginary arrows at bystanders on the street while I sipped my twin sister's flask of some gross juice and alcohol mixture. Don’t remember much, but it was a great day. I think. Shout out to the woman who came over and put sunscreen on my back when I was passed out on the grass face down. Sorry for screaming at you when I realized what you were doing.

I launch out of the memory and continue on with my walk. I walked down Geary and another memory strikes me as I pass where Joe’s Ice Cream used to be.

I was in Middle School when I hung out with a bunch of skaters both Asian & White who for some reason accepted me into their crew. Maybe it’s because they knew me before I came out. We also identified as “punks” listening to bands like the Dead Kennedys and the Ramones and I guess in the “punk world” being gay was a tad more accepted since we were all “outcasts”. Unfortunately, at the end of the day I was still the butt of all my friends' jokes, and I had to give a few of them blowjobs… secretly. "cough"

So one day, we’re all hanging out eating fries and mustard for $1 at Joe’s Ice Cream on the corner of 17th and Geary. Enjoying ourselves, playing snake on our Nokia phones, decked out in Hot Topic, we see our rivals. The Russians.

Now in the Richmond District for no good reason, beef always existed with the Russians & the Asians, and the Russians & the Asians hated the skaters, and then there was me. The gay one. The bottom of the barrel. The ultimate target.

They stood outside waiting for us to leave so they could attack us. We stayed in the Ice Cream shop as long as we could to devise a plan. Luckily we had skateboards so we just had to wack a few of them in the back and then we all skated away like our lives depended on it. This was a normal Saturday for us all. Usually the entire crew would blame me because the Russian's truly just wanted to beat me up, not all of us. Then my friends would attack me for being Gay with words and maybe a few slaps. But this was all apart of the experience right? So happy I learned acceptance and tolerance at such a young age. It's really paying off now a days in the self love category of my life.

Walking home from work one day I journey down Van Ness and I see a building for lease. It’s the movie theater I saw Spice World in.

I was 8 years old when Spice World came out. It was and still is the highlight of my life. A group of girls who seemed to sing to the beat of your baby gay heart drum named the Spice Girls single handily gave purpose to my adolescent experience. I’ve never felt more of a connection to music like that, so when I heard they were making a movie, I had to be there OPENING FUCKING DAY.

My entire family hopped on the 38 Geary bus going downtown. The 38 seemed to be the key holder to San Francisco’s culture. It passes through the entire city, from Ocean Beach to the TransBay Terminal picking up all walks of life, this is where I learned about people the most. When we got off, we walked up Van Ness to Post Street where this massive geometric glass building stood.

It was a United Artist Theatre. One of the coolest futuristic Theaters in San Francisco. A theatre where my dreams of being a Spice Boy were born.

We got our tickets and waited in line to be let into the theater. I remember it being a very sunny but very cold windy SF day. Very normal weather in January.

We got into the theater and rushed to get the best seats (the middle row obviously). We noticed there was yellow caution tape blocking an entire row which seemed like the middle row, so we sat just behind it.

As the advertisements and previews play an usher with a flashlight guides a group of people into the row that was blocked off in front of us. In walks Robin Williams and his entire family. All of us look at each other in disbelief. Of course we don’t freak out or say anything, our parents taught us better. But I’m having a full blown melt down. My heroes are in the same room. The Spice Girls and Robin Williams. I felt like I was truly in a Dream. It was all too good to be true. So instead of paying attention to the movie, I watched the movie through his lens. I watched him laugh, I watched him look at his children as they danced and sang, I watched him pick popcorn out of his teeth. I saw my hero being a human. It was the most humbling experience ever. I honestly think that’s one of the reasons I’m so jaded when It comes to seeing celebrities nowadays. I just don’t care. We’re all the same! We love the Spice Girls!

Rest in Peace Robin.

I continue on my walk down and Van Ness hit a left on Market. I walk towards Powell where I sit at the 31 Balboa bus stop and wait for my bus home. "I wonder where George the Poet is today?"

George was a man I met on a smoke break one day when I was 18 working at PUMA. He came up wearing a red beanie, a long beaten up leather coat, and a mismatch of beige and brown threads, a couple missing teeth, and the conviction to get what he wanted. He asked me if I had any change. I told him I didn’t. He quickly moved on.

The next day at work, I went back to my normal break spot and lit up a cigarette. I could see in the distance George, again, asking people for money. Everyone disregarded him. Though on this day I had a 5 dollar bill. George made his way over, Thinking he was going to ask for money I reached into my pocket. George then asks if I wanted to hear some Poetry? I looked at him kind of in shock. But also, I live in San Francisco. I’ve been experiencing peculiar things all my life. I welcome them generously. “Sure George”, and he went on. The poem in which I can’t truly remember seemed to talk about George's life but in the life of an animal. “George, Did you write this?”. He nods. I was fucking blown away. This man's poetry was like listening to Billie Holiday for the first time. Even though when he asked for change he sounded sharp and almost illiterate, when he presented poetry, his eyes closed half way, he used his hands to draft emotion, he was in the zone. After he finished, I gave George the $5 and thanked him. He thanked me graciously and moved on.

This was the first time I made friends with a homeless person. My coworkers would always side eye me if they we’re taking a break and witnessed this but I didn’t care, I knew he was special. His words may have been grammatically incorrect but I knew what he was trying to convey. He just needed someone to listen. I decided that I would be that person for him, if no one else was going to. So, every time I saw George I gave him a $5 bill and he read me new poetry.

I got off work one day, it was the holiday season and I now worked at GAP on Post street. Heading home I saw George near the Muni Turn around on Powell. He waved me down and came over. George told me that his shelter helped him bind together a book of all his poems. He only had one copy and no, he didn’t give it to me. He was so proud of himself, he just wanted to show me. This man still had no home, but he had a book, a book of his legacy. It was a beautiful thing. Like something out of a Christmas movie. I didn’t have cash on me that day but what I did do was buy George lunch. I wanted to congratulate him some how. George quickly demanded he wanted pizza once I asked. So we walked over to Blondies, the pizza shop on Powell, as we walked in the security guard stopped us.”Naw, George, not today” he says. “He’s with me” I say. The security guard explained he didn’t care because George had stolen food from them multiple times. “Well, I’m buying today and he’s with me”. Security let George inside begrudgingly. Inside not only the employees stared at me down, but the customers too. It was like they all resented the site of seeing a homeless person inside a restaurant. I bought George three slices of whatever he wanted and wished him Happy Holidays. After this moment, I never saw George again.

The 31 balboa approaches. I hop on, and choose my favorite seat. 2nd to last row, right window seat.

Memories flash in my mind as I pass through the Tenderloin, Fillmore, Divisadero, Panhandle, Inner Richmond, to the Outer Richmond.

I step off the 31 and make my way to the huge hill that leads to my family's apartment.

It’s night time. Fog wraps around the streetlights again. I walk down the middle of the street (my favorite thing to do) I remember how many times I’ve skated down it, cried down it, run drunk down it, held hands with boyfriends down it, and danced down it.

This is my San Francisco, and I’ll love it forever.