Apparently I am in SOMA, the heart of tech in the city.
I’ve found myself in Starbucks two days in a row, a place I could never abide in Cambridge, in the heart of my coffee snob heart.
Where do I come form, where am I, where am I going?
Everything here is reflective. In the morning, light bounces from the bay to the ubiquitous glass paneling of the high rises. I imagine it is the light of a million disco balls, embracing, energizing, and sort of … jarring.
The brightness is infectious, I think. I went to a small cafe yesterday. I expected disaffected employees, charming decor. Not quite. It was small, and lacked the polished efficiency of Starbucks, but nonetheless, the concrete and steel motif reverberates strongly. In Cambridge, sometimes bookstores contained cafes. Tri… Bookstore on Newberry Street is one example. This cafe contained a bookstore. San Francisco is the synecdochic reversal of Cambridge. Maybe. Three business dudes sat to the left of me, and one guy in gym shorts and a t-shirt. No skinny pale girls with cigarettes. No guys in skinny jeans. I overheard acronyms, not French Surnames.
I feel out of place. In Cambridge, I identified with California. I lived in San Jose. I skateboarded. Here, I feel distinctly Cantabrigian.
