Blazingly hot day. Even the shade wasn’t cold, just cool. When I went out for a morning walk I saw pigeons sitting in the fountain in front of the Old Mint, trying to cool off. I walked down to Waldenbooks on Geary to see if they had any good diaries, but nothing I saw appealed to me. Instead, I bought a copy of Satan Wants You. On my way back I passed that guy who does opera on the street. He was singing “La Donna Mobile.” I put a dollar in his hat.

Blazingly hot days are rare in San Francisco, especially in June (Our summer is usually just a few days in October.)

I was reaching the end of this volume, a lined blank book with a pale green cover and a picture of cats on the front. Back then, there were enough bookstores, chains and indies, in downtown San Francisco for my walks to consist of going from one to the other. Waldenbooks was, along with B. Dalton’s, one of the two main big chains of the 1980s.

SATAN WANTS YOU by Arthur Lyons is not as bloodcurdling as it sounds, was actually a badly needed skeptical reaction to the Satanic Panic, which was in full swing at the time. We were constantly opening the paper to read breathless, utterly credulous news accounts of Satanic cults infiltrating preschools. Lyons was a breath of fresh air. Sample passage: “With a little effort, I managed to track down the twin bloodthirsty cults and found them to be the fictitious creation of a Minneapolis accountant.”

The singer I mention was someone San Franciscans frequently referred to back then as “That Opera Guy,” a large, fair-haired, rather chubby man in his late twenties or early thirties who sang opera on downtown streets. I believe he was trying to raise money to get into a prestigious performing arts college. Fine voice.