Later I met my father in Chinatown and we foraged among the shops and bought bahn mi and noodles and sticky rice and BBQ pork buns for D. Then the whole family went down to the docks and we caught a ferry in the dusk and fog to Alcatraz, just entirely Gothic and freaky, and wandered around in the dark there. Avoiding the ghosts, though there were relatively few. Came back on the late boat, chilled and curly, and moved as if in a daze through the Disney-land world of Pier 39 (carousels and cigarettes and flashy lights), smelled Fishmans Wharf, and then after a lot of walking and asking people for directions and grumbling and saying accusing things like: You said you knew where this restaurant was! and Why on earth can't we just go home? we found it, a Belgian beer and appetizers sort of thing.
3 orders of French fries, 12 kinds of dipping sauce, 6 different beers, and a couple of salads later, we stumbled home in an exhausted fug.
That was yesterday.
Number 8., by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
It was a face which darkness could kill in an instant a face as easily hurt by laughter or light 'We think differently at night' she told me once lying back languidly And she would quote Cocteau 'I feel there is an angel in me' she'd say 'whom I am constantly shocking' Then she would smile and look away light a cigarette for me sigh and rise and stretch her sweet anatomy let fall a stocking