A Walk

San Francisco, California—the pitter patter of rain in the Tenderloin. A man moves in heaves and starts down the sidewalk, like a ship that's lost its way at sea. His hair is gray and shaggy and wet, and it falls half way down his chest, where it tangles with a set of green and red Mardi Gras beads that hang from his neck. He is missing teeth, three or few prominent ones, and he has a crushed can of beer in his hand. He takes a sip from the empty can, then drops it on the ground.

UC Hastings, the law school, looms over the sidewalk on the other side of the street. The sun is gone and it's nothing but a gray February day, yet the ivory tower still casts a shadow. It must be 30 stories at least, and somewhere up there a law student is looking down at the old man with the Mardi Gras beads and wondering how he got there, where he's going, and why some people end up out there in the rain, breaking the law with a can of beer, and others end up in here, studying the ways to uphold it.

At the top of the hill, a lady bends over in the crosswalk and scratches at a penny on the ground. It slides a little. Then she's got it in her hand and she lifts it to her eye and puts it in her pocket. St. Anthony Foundation is at the bottom of the next block. Men and women, some of them in their 20s, others in their 70s, are lined up here, where the woman with the penny just joined the queue, heads hung, jackets masquerading as umbrellas.

The light turns green. A rush of cars hit the gas, and Leavenworth gets loud and slushy. There's a black man crossing the street. He looks like he might stop and loll right there in the center lane, where the cabby is beeping his horn, but then he moves on and makes it to the sidewalk. He's got that glazed look. He joins the line for St. Anthony's, too.

Then there's color. Up at the next block, 30, perhaps 40, kids are crossing the street with their parents, all limbs and jackets and pink and red and blue umbrellas. There's a man sitting in a white van and an Asian lady standing a few feet away from the driver-side window, out on the street. The man locks his door.

Kitty-corner, a lady in her late 20s with black and teal shoes, white socks, and a black rain coat is asking for change. She's not wearing any pants, and the skin between her shin-high socks and the base of her raincoat is black and coarse with goose bumps. The kids make their way past her on down the street toward Market.