Friends had told me that when I do go out, it should be in the morning. “At about two or three, everyone decides they want to go outside.” In spite of this, I did not step outside until afternoon, a scarf wrapped around the bottom portion of my face.

The day was gray and rather uninviting, the kind of day that gave San Francisco the nickname of “cool gray city of love.” More people were out and about than I expected, most of them young, their faces uncovered. Every older person I saw had a mask.

My hopes of going into Le Beau for dosa chips were dashed by the crowd I saw in front. Yes, there were white lines painted on the pavement, but people seemed to be only roughly approximating them, standing closer than six feet apart, and again, most of them were unmasked. I walked around the block, giving a wide berth to any passers by. For the sake of exercise, I went a little ways down the hill and checked on the window where two little dogs like to sit. No sign of them, though their toys were there. As I walked back up the hill, I noted how out of shape I’d gotten. Before the pandemic, I’d walked up and down Nob Hill at least once a day. Maybe I should start doing that in the mornings, when fewer people are about.

Apparently there was an anti-shutdown rally near City Hall at noon yesterday. Not reassuring to hear. Judging from what I have seen on the news, these people are getting more and more aggressive, invading the statehouse with guns in Michigan, deliberately approaching cops and counter demonstrators and screaming in their faces, and implying that anyone obeying shut down guidelines is a traitorous coward who wants our economy to fail. I know everyone sees San Francisco as a bastion of liberalism and in some ways we are, but we also have a far right wing presence that is nasty, loud, and borderline violent. Those of us who work in bookstores and libraries are aware of them because they target local bookstores and libraries. A Communist Bookstore in Berkeley had to confront a mob of Proud Boys threatening to burn it down. A friend who works at a San Francisco bookstore here told us they have also been targeted and have had to hire security. “I don’t like walking home by myself” he said.

Stupidity is weaponized in this country.

Most of my day yesterday was spent cooking — Shrimp stew, which is time consuming, and not to be eaten until the following day. For dinner last night, sauteed bok choy with rice, and the frozen pot-stickers from Costco that Michael picked up because he knows I love them.

At dusk we heard the usual voices from the gazebo next door, saw the usual young folks sitting and standing around with wine-glasses, resulting in Michael’s usual frothing, profane reaction. They didn’t stay outside to party this time, perhaps because the wind had picked up and the temperature had dropped. Michael has not yet gone so far as to yell out the window at them.

However, on Thursday night, in the spirit of the 8:00 pm “Howl,” I went to our window and declaimed the first few lines of Alan Ginsberg’s poem.

“I saw the greatest minds of our generation destroyed by madness, starving, naked, hysterical, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix…”