a rabbithole, a forgotten jar

and some almost Berliner

I’ve been thinking of all the things I had omitted when telling my San Francisco story.

The time I sat on the little patch of grass hidden behind a hedge at the top end of the Vallejo steps, and watched a hummingbird dressed in peacock green slurping the goodness from countless dangling fuchsias. Or how there was a tailor’s shop window on Columbus that d…