Another Friday night in the sister-city…
Walking down Polk Street and taking a left onto Sutter, I passed the entrance to one of the many bars just as a rather rotund fellow came stumbling out. He said something to me, rather excitedly but I had ear phones on and couldn’t hear him. Again, we do that here so random strangers typically don’t try to talk to us, but he was insistent. I took out an ear-bud and he grinned, red-faced and sweaty…
“Is that a who-dat sweatshirt?”
I nodded, “Yeah.”
“And your hat, Giants. Who-dat and the Giants!”
I laughed, “Uh-huh.”
“Man, that was a great year! Super Bowl and the Giants win their first series! I’m from New Orleans, born and raised. You made my night!”
He stuck out his hand and I shook it, saying, “Used to live at the corner of St. Ann and Royal.”
“St. Ann and Royal!” He yelled, looking up at the night-sky, “Christ I miss home!”
And then we parted ways and I continued up Nob Hill to meet a friend for drinks. As I’ve written before, it’s a common occurrence round these parts. All it takes is one simple symbol in this chilly city to find a warm exchange…
The fleur-de-lis.
Heard dat, and see you all real soon…
Have a nice day.
