And I responded to the article. How could I not?
I forgot to mention Fernet, though.
North Beach, where the men are boys and the women are strippers
At least, that's the impression you'd get if you only came in to my neighborhood on the weekends.
The other North Beach, the one I live in, is a place where everyone is familiar, even if you just met them. Where you're taken care of if you need it ( Read more... )
North Beach, where the men are boys and the women are strippers
At least, that's the impression you'd get if you only came in to my neighborhood on the weekends.
The other North Beach, the one I live in, is a place where everyone is familiar, even if you just met them. Where you're taken care of if you need it ( Read more... )
Comments 1
That's the North Beach where the old Beat poet guys in the Cafe Trieste rallied around me one morning, when I suddenly realised what I'd left and lost, and I melted down into a sobbing incoherent mess. They plied me with espresso, and offered me pastry, and stroked my shoulder, and surrounded me so that no one outside on Grant Avenue could see me having a total collapse of the spirit. Not one of those guys had a clue who I was; IIRC, one of them was Lawrence Ferlinghetti. But I could be misremembering.
A lifesaving place, and I love it fiercely.
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