Dodie and I drove all the way from South of Market to the far side of Potrero Hill and arrived at what seemed like a more peaceful world late Saturday afternoon—the Ping Pong Gallery on 22nd Street. We parked adjacent to a long row of rosebushes, across the street from the gallery. Do you remember Saturday? The sun was out depending on where you stood, and dark clouds filled the other part of the sky. Sometimes it would be raining while the sun still shone. Neil said that in Louisiana, when it’s raining in the sun, locals say that the devil’s beating his wife. “But I don’t know what that means either.” But in late afternoon on 22nd Street the day was weirdly quiet and still. Way up the hill above the gallery sit the slate-colored Potrero projects, almost as if on a cliff without access to the street below. The air was suffused with the deep red and the confident green of the rose trees.
We’d had a hectic day so only managed to push open the door somewhere around ... More