Six hours had passed since he left for the streets of San Francisco alone; he was used to walking alone, with a recently discovered feeling that he was mostly a stranger. The presence of that very quality had allowed him to continuously ascend the apparently damned-by-nature steep hills of San Francisco — otherwise known as the streets. Now he was just a tourist getting lost in the city…with a digital map: a silent companion in exploring the different districts and neighbourhoods; he had found that one can indeed learn a lot about a place in only a quarter of a day. His journey began when he commuted from just outside the city to the Financial District (or downtown) via public transporter BART. At times, he would close his eyes and breathe it all in — that is, the scent of nature, with the occasional perfume of the homeless. Perhaps he would have wandered without purpose for longer had he not been so fantastical in his ventures. He was looking for something more. Before he knew it, he was by the Lyon Street steps — the climax of his purposeless voyage — on the other side of the city. It was quite a view: a set of stairs with delicately decorated plants, and a body of water was in the distance. He captured the scenery, with eyes and phone, and began heading back to the Financial District via Broadway Street. After some time, he found himself just outside of Chinatown, going down a steep hill, where he noticed an old Asian man sitting down by a house on some steps. The man called out for him: he was looking for directions to a house. The man had a thick accent and didn’t speak very well, holding a phone with a somewhat blurry photo of an address —
1020 Broadway.
He figured his silent companion could be of some help and set out to direct the man.
You’re going to go down on Broadway and take a right on Powell. Keep going until you reach Pacific and take another right. When you reach Mason, take another right, go up the hill and you’re home.
The man nodded his head, grabbed his backpack and continued down a hill a few meters away. The quiet, quite wealthy neighbourhood allowed for a brief moment of silence. As he stood there looking at the map, he quickly realized that he couldn’t just let the man embark on that path alone — as the man would certainly get lost at some point. He wasn’t one to take half-measures in his endeavours either, and an opportunity to go out of his way to help a fellow tourist excited him in an indescribable way. He hastened very carefully down the hill, for it was too steep, and caught up with the man.
Let’s go. I’ll take you home.
He proceeded to lead the way and immediately looked back at the man. He noticed a subtle smile, one that slowed time; and he was indifferent towards the time, for he had a lot of it; but what he figured he didn’t have was company and a sense of adventure. He knew that interactions like these were quite valuable. Their trip took them through some parts of Chinatown, where men stood outside with cigarettes in hand, and the air smelled of fish. His six-hour journey had brought with it many reflections and discoveries. This walk enkindled yet another: the man would have probably been okay after all. As they took another right, he looked at his phone, and noticed 30 minutes had passed. He pointed at a hill that awaited their ascent.
We’re here.
He turned to the man and smiled. The man shook his hand, bowed and with a soft tone, thanked him. A strange feeling that he had been there before — a sort of déjà-vu — hit him; it was all too familiar, he thought.
Broadway Street.
The man continued walking towards the same set of stairs and stood in front of the same house. He stood paralyzed and speechless as he looked at the man. He was numb, and his mind a vacuum, unable to fathom what had just happened. He waited a while, before facing the steep hill once again. With the sun setting, he turned to see the man one last time. He was no longer there.
Down the hill sat another stranger on some steps in front of a house.
