Organic Mutant

Walking home at 4:30 AM is one of those things that living in San Francisco has gotten me acquainted with. It’s not quite the same as driving home at that hour, or walking through the city at other hours. But in the past year that I’ve lived here, I’ve had the opportunity to make just that walk on, well, more than one occasion. In one sense, it can be a scary proposition - walking through dark, empty streets - spotting odd, peculiar figures on street corners, in building entrances, or among the shadows. There is a sense of vulnerability. In response, I try to put myslef in a state of hyper-awareness, readiness, and leeriness. I have no intention of getting mugged.

Last night, for example, I was returning to North Beach from the Clift Hotel near Union Square. I walked across Union Square itself - feeling quite comfortable, if a little cold - heading northeast towards the Stockton tunnel. If you’re not familiar with it, the most important quality I can convey is the fact that near it’s south end, it has two sketchy stairwells that lead to Bush Street above. So at that hour, I’m thinking to myself: this is a potential danger zone. As I approach the tunnel, I see one shadowiy figure headed towards me at a good clip - he appears to be wearing a hooded sweatshirt. I intentionally - and obviously - keep my distance from the man, at least a good 20 feet, and avoid any direct eye contact. We pass. Moments later, I hear a loud, high pitched call from Bush Street above the tunnel: “HOOTIE WHOOO!!!” My eyes dart up to see the source of the call, and I see the silhouette of a man cupping his hands as he finishes his holler. In response, the guy I had just passes calls back “YOUUU KNOOOOOW!!” in a deep voice. My paranoia tells me that these guys are running some sort of coordinated operation, and that I’ve been passed over as a potential victim of their scheme thanks only to my burly, intimidating apearance.

So I step up my pace through the long tunnel, even breaking into a jog for a brief period, until I pop out the other end in safer territory: Chinatown. And a few minutes later, I am at Stockton and Columbus, practically my front yard. Home safe again.

In other ways, the walks offer a small glimpse into the underbelly of The City, as you see buses slowly reclaiming their ridership as the hour grows from 4:30 towards 5:00. The odd delivery truck making an early stop, or the newspaper guy filling the newspaper vending machines. And other locals, like me, who have also decided that wherever they were at 4:30 will not be where they are at 5:00. Once in a while, depending on the route you walk and the weather patterns, you might be treated to a special view of the city, one you could never witness when the city is awake and the lighting is more harsh.

And the walk always ends, for me, with the turning of a brass doorknob and the sound of a small dog skittering out of bed, running towards me, and making that special whimper that lets me know she’s glad I’m home.