At dawn on Sunday the streets in the Mission were wet and the sky looked dangerous, though no rain was actually falling when I went out.
A few days earlier I had seen the soldered numerals below at the entrance to an old apartment building off Folsom, but had no camera with me. Documenting them was, in my opinion, well worth an early morning expedition. And of course I found other things, too.
The painted images below are from an eye-level mural ornamenting one long windowless wall of a Mexican restaurant in the same neighborhood (one of the borderlands between the Mission and SOMA).
It did not rain. The sky (as below) began to clear, in fact, and the sun even became partly visible. Looking up, I vainly longed for the
illustrated book given to me some years back by my daughter about identifying categories of clouds (especially those streamer-like ones making faint vertical stripes in the picture's upper left corner) but as usual I was not carrying it when needed.
HONOR THE GAME reads the lettering on the retaining wall. The view above happens to be of the playing field at Mission High, but all high schools have similar admonitions painted in big letters somewhere or other. Even as a child I was so put off by their hortatory tone that I always instantaneously rejected the message, whatever its merits. And my reflex remains exactly the same, all these decades later. Unevolved.
