5
By the time I reached home, the fog had rolled in with a vengeance, as it does most afternoons out on the Avenues. When freezing Alaskan currents collide with the heat of the California landmass, we get fog, lots of it. My little apartment is at the far western end of the city, on 30th Avenue, the outer Richmond. Fog central. I can’t imagine living anyplace else. When the deep voices of the foghorns sound, I close my eyes and imagine I’m on a big ship floating out to sea, far away from the world and all its cares.
The phone was ringing as I fit my key into the front door. I kicked it shut behind me and ran up the stairs to grab the extension in the hallway. It was Maggie. "Oh, I’m so glad it’s you. I was planning on giving you a call tonight." There may be gaps in our get-togethers, bu
