Commute musings

I showered dressed and had coffee. My mind refused to play along as I swiped open my iPhone and ordered Lyft.

A Mercedes Benz, C class pulled up a few minutes later. I opened the door, dropped a pleasantry and buried myself in my phone, like an 1800s banker in a carriage, passing the ghetto on the way to Wall Street.

Still the Benz was preferable to a Prius. It felt like I had a private driver, rather than the pure share economy feel, where you know you're jipped for the convenience. The german car made me feel slightly more important than people taking the bus. It's vain, but that's how the world works.

We passed two women walking to work in their casual yoga pants (SF doesn't dress up) and descended down a steep hill, from Russian Hill to North Beach. Cyclists with rolled up jean pants and Patagonia back packs battled, passive-agressively for lane space with our car.

The fog was clearing, although the sky was still chilly gray, like my mind, refusing to embrace the day. We reached Embarcadero and hit a wall of traffic. Congestion will be here a thousand years from now, like cock roaches. a by products at the edge of society, potentially impossible to destroy. Even you get rid of cars, you'll still have mobs of bikes, scooters, or pedestrians.

The red bricks of the Levi's plaza contrasted with the gray of of the Transamerica and the brown of the Bank of America. This was oldish SF. Now quite the age of the ships laying under the ground of the city, but something just on the edge of my lifespan. The newly raised cock of the Salesforce Tower now glistened above these elderly statesmen.

This morning would pass, just like the one the week after. Together with a hundred others time will slowly turn its pages in a way that varies just slightly giving my life a sense of monotony, but slowly changing our world from the gold rush of the wild west to the phallic monuments in present Silicon Valley.