The kind ones admire the waterThe wise ones admire the mountainsI am mostly interested in this city.San Francisco playing itself.Do you recognise it? It was done before we were undone.Like two escalators running in parallelbut people are only going up on one side.Two blocks downhill it has been raining for hours.I cross to an island of upmarket hotelssurrounded by hospitality workers on strike.Mostly women, slamming loudly on metal drums.Joan of Arc in raincoats.Summer is long goneand the rain in San Francisco is damaged.I heard of a place called Tenderloin; the name appealed buteveryone advised not to go. I avoided it but found it around every corner.A small community of tents and standing in front a man fixed in a silentscream. A woman standing on the corner, dripping wet from the rain, likean ice statue being burned at the stake.The rain in San Francisco is frozen.When leaving I saw a man on a roof building a sail from white cloth. Or wasit a flag.