I went out for a brief walk in the morning, down to Merrill’s to buy some stockings and something to drink. The Powel Street AIDS evangelist across the street was shouting and waviong his arms before a small, interested crowd that included a little black and white dog. I saw no sign of the counter-demonstrators, though I did once hear a woman’s voice raised in contention.

Merrill’s had stockings, but no Koalas. I bought one in Capwell’s basement. I picked up a Sunday paper at the little sweet-shop next to the turnaround.

This entry strikes me because it’s about lost geography, lost places, a lost world. Merrill’s was a drugstore inside a green birthday cake-like building on Market across and at an angle from Powell Street. The building is still there and still green. Merrill’s, like any drugstore in this city that aren’t CVS or Walgreen’s, is long gone. So is Emporium Capwell’s and its basement, where I could pick up a sugary Koala soft drink and where fancy prepared foods (high end junk food) were sold. There is no longer any sweetshop near the turnaround. Or Evangelists.

I no longer willingly wear nylons.

But most of all, buying a thick Sunday paper to read over coffee, spreading the pages out on the floor (or on our bed), passing each other the sections in silence, that ended sometimes in the early oughts. It just sort of faded away.