of the City
Goat and Mister SF
steps I wended and wove my way through the dark, over Russian Hill, in
search of answers to the long-unsolved
mysteries that had been remembered by an old friend and by the angel
who came and went from this hilltop. Even on a night so clear that you
can see all the way to Mt. Diablo, secrets remain under cover of age.
I crossed the paths of Joan Crawford and Jack Kerouac through other Mystoric
Landmarks. At the Tamalpais Blgd. I imagined what he saw
from there, what she saw from here, and what Joan ever saw in
Alfred Steel, the other Alfred. Later still, I decided to march down Rock
Hudson's stairs at Larkin and Francisco when I saw -
or so I thought - a silent herd of goats resting in the gully.
I've come to expect the unexpected in our City of cities, but this time
the horns suggested it could be only a vision. A daytime visit would be