A Stroll Down Powell
Plunging out of the door and down the front steps of the 851 dorms, I step into the sunlight for the first time all day. The brightness is intense, especially after a weary-eyed morning of taking classes from my room. My headphones blast upbeat pop as I turn down the first hill. I’m on my way to HQ to present the app I’ve been working on, there’s a lot to remember. I lazily go over what I need to say in my head, but I can’t feel stressed, it’s too beautiful today.
Now at the bottom of the third hill, my knees can behave normally again, no longer having to halt my momentum and stop me from tumbling down the street. There’s a skip in my step, and as the next beat hits I hop happily over a curb.
The smell of sizzling animal flesh wafts into my nostrils as I pass Lori’s “American” diner. It’s guiltily-pleasurable, but before I have time to remember old habits a dapper suited and bearded man dangles the newest fragrance sample in my face. I have to duck to avoid him, finding myself under the shadows of towering hotels, I nod at the red-dressed man and try not to step on the toes of the pretentious guests who are waiting on a cab because they still haven’t downloaded Uber.
I hear a soothing saxophone as I emerge into Union Square, pausing my music but keeping the headphones in, secretly stealing the sounds around me. A few more steps and I’m attacked again, this time with pamphlets to board a double-decker bus to tour the city. They say it’s a super special offer, apparently so special that it’s been going on since last summer. Finally the light changes and I escape into the intersection, ironically the same one where their bus crashed head-on into a cyclist before swerving off the road just a few weeks ago.
As I reach to un-pause my music, I hear a familiar sound and can’t help but grin. It’s salsa music. Sure enough, the bald old man comes cruising around the corner on his speaker-scooter, bouncing to the beat his bald head adorned with a backwards visor. I barely even notice the pizza coupon pushed in front of my face as I pass. Weaving around the line to ride the cable car, I dodge the flailing limbs of shirtless tap dancers, deliberately look away from Jehovah’s witnesses, and am about to make my turn on to Market.
Then I notice him — a nameless face I’ve seen before. I know what he’ll say, because he’s never said anything else: “HI!” he yells, “HI, HI, HI!” I pass him, avoiding his gaze, pretending I can’t hear through my headphones, keeping my limbs away from his outstretched one.
I bet he knew I would do that, because I’ve never done anything else.
Not even halfway to my destination, I’m exhausted. I feel different from how I felt at the top of the hill. Willpower depleted, emotions shifted, I’m tired of playing this game of ignorance. Funny how everything wants your attention until you have nothing and everything has your attention until you want nothing.
