Sunday curls sunlight into the room as a fire gently plays its song. In pajamas and robes, we tuck into the sofa and laugh over a jumble of old movies, then and now. She loves you, ya ya ya.
The day before we'd been on Potrero Hill admiring The City at night, re-discovering Diego Rivera's frescoes at Coit Tower, reliving the Haight and Apollo Records, savoring steamed clams and Louie at the Clam House, walking the Giant moments at Pac Bell Park, taking the crookedest street that isn't Lombard, and celebrating 'The Thinker' at the Legion of Honor.
His home turf. As am I. This connection we have, these moments, make me forget what life was like before. My heart stands still.
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