Lev Kushner says you can hear the city talking to you if you give it an ear.
San Francisco can feel like an uncaring city, especially lately. But it speaks to you, if you listen.
For light sleeping, vaguely neurotic fathers like myself, the rattle of the pre-sunrise garbage trucks is a soothing reminder that the system works even while I don’t. “I got you,” the city says. “I’ll take those 6,000 cardboard boxes you accumulated this week.”
If you live by a bus stop, as I used to on Nob Hill, you become desensitized to the mutterings of the passing buses, repeated at all hours. “1 - California to Drumm and Clay.” “Don’t give up,” the city says, as it endlessly strives to finally make it to Drumm and Clay and just stay there.
Until 2019, the Outdoor Public Warning System would give a little hello every Tuesday at noon as part of its weekly test. “I’m looking out for you in case everything goes to hell,” the city reminded me. Unfortunately, that system is in year four of a two-year refurbishment. The city only looks out for me intermittently, I guess.