4 August 2005 - half past eight o'clock am

The memories are fading even as I write them, like a dream that you wake from. Even though upon the moment of waking the images are still fresh, as you try to consciously recollect them, they become distant and confused. My memory works that way.

So, this morning's impressions, quickly, while I still have them: The first one was of a passenger who got on the train at the West Portal station. I was looking down at the floor, watching the shoes of people who boarded. Those were the first thing I noticed about her: they were leather, but designed to resemble miniature canvas tennis shoes, even with little leather faux laces. But they were pumps. And, I thought, those were very clever. A lot of times I think it's a shame to find clever shoes on a dull person. But on further looking, I noticed that her sheer stockings weren't sheer at all; they were delicate fishnets in a pale pink that almost disappeared into the color of her pale legs. And as she sat down, I noticed that the trim on her seemingly ordinary skirt was pink velvet. On her lap was a carpet-bag purse with beaded flowers embroidered onto it; the kind of purse I might carry (if I could ever find one...) Her jacket was neatly fitted, and tucked into the breast was a scarf that united all the colors in her ensemble; variances of muted pink and taupe. Her hair was like the rest of her; uninteresting at first, but upon further observation, a wealth of details. At the moment it was wet, and pulled hastily back with those little clips, so the color wasn't apparent. But as the light hit it, I noticed it was a purpley deep red burgundy. Her fingernails were short but neat, and painted to match the color of her hair. Compared to her carefully keyed, pulled together ensemble, I felt self conscious in my worn-out buckled mary janes, black tights, sweater set and tiered skirt, with my blonde roots and crooked glasses. Brought up the usual conflict of both wanting to be noticed, and wanting to be invisible at the same time.

Onto less personal impressions, that of the buildings I passed on the way to work. The first being, which I had only noticed for the first time in spite of walking past it every morning for a month, the Stock Exchange building in San Francisco. Whew, talk about rich. The doors, which were gilt, were open, so I peeked inside. The interior was dark, lit with recessed lamps set in the walls. I swear the whole fucking place was gilt. It was as grand as a palace, and dark as a church. It was the ultimate shrine to the mighty god of commerce. Words can't describe it, I'll have to go in like a lost tourist and snap as many photos as I can before they throw me out. From there I walked on to notice another building I had never noticed before, the Royal... shit, the Royal Something or Other. But there they were, the lion and the unicorn of the crown, locked in the usual combat, but intead of their object being perched on top of the royal coat of arms, it sat upon a broken clock, Which had stopped who knows how long ago at quarter past noon. The fabulous sculpture had possibly been hidden behind the scaffolding as it seemed not only the clock but the entire exquisite piece of architecture was in disrepair, now being restored. I internally suggested to the workers that they fix the clock besides, although antiquarians might have perferred it to remain as it was.