Date: Sun, 30 Aug 1998 23:03:28 +0100 (BST)
From: A small Yoz-type object 
To: Quinn Norton 
Subject: Re: random thoughts.

in the mean time, i do miss you. i hope sf is treating you well. the city will always have a thick blanket of memories for me, of moments largely spent in love. my father endlessly showed me the city through his eyes, and through them, even the tourist stripmalls shone with exotic and overwhelming glory. he would take me down to fisherman's wharf and we would do stupid things (like look for parking til we felt old) and go play video games and watch the seals and feel young again.

jeremy and i (that was the boy seven years ago that gave me such a spin) spent some time in the city, being rained on, hopping from awning to awning and buying street vendor food. everything was littered with t-shirts and postcards and gaudy gold watches, and clouded with kisses. once again we watched the seals. they are lazy and domestic, they are there to be watched. we walked to giradelli square and waited for enlightenment to be born in chocolate. we were poor, but the smells were free.

and just three years ago i sat in a resturant (spending more money than i could have conceived of at the wharf with jeremy) at the top of nordstroms overlooking the city and kept falling in love. the windows were tinted in the restuarant, and it mellowed the city, made its colors warmer. it is a gentle city, for me it is a good place to fall.

i was last there with the first love, my father. i was there to leave some of him in the palace of fine arts, because he took me there when i was a child just to show me the columns. we bought cherries and ate ourselves nearly sick, then we went to the exploratorium. i played taps on a kazoo for him there. a wedding was going on, but they didn't notice our small funeral. i was glad they were there, it was something so human in the middle of numb penetrating grief. it reminded me that it hurt so bad because i had loved so much.

san fransisco is a place in my history where i've always been unafraid of love, and therefore incapale of not existing in wonder. i am better for that. it's nice for me to think of you in the city. i hope you like it.

ambiguous quinn