3 April 2020. Kains Street View.
Unavoidable, turning left onto Kains, one of the narrow neighborhood streets--this mask business is getting serious. That is, you pay attention to everyone ahead and behind, stepping out onto the pavement as need be--at least that's how I handle it. Solano a little after seven--I live for these walks, especially late at night, but I've given that up for the moment. People being unpredictable. Like the homeless guy, the evening before, on an old bicycle, riding on the sidewalk by Wells Fargo, at the top of the hill. He zooms by on my right, almost touching. The bike chain making a creak creak...
Here, the bottleneck (funny idea) at the Bart tracks, where a few people are still running on the greenway below, appearing unexpectedly to wait for the light. The compact girl in tights who slams the change button with her knee, then dances back and forth for those few seconds. Doug across the way, on the Albany city bench, his gloaming presence in heavy hooded coat, holding a wire effigy in both hands, creating something. Well past dusk...
So I decide to take in an extra block--Solano to Marin. The street is narrow, you pay attention to this, too--and entirely empty. Desolate? A third of the way, there on the right, a narrow house set back on its lot. Unexpectedly narrow--I'm guessing because of the Bart tracks right behind--they no doubt claimed the right-of-way when building the system in the early sixties. The effect is strange--the house being formal, with its pitched roof and double chimneys--but it feels like something out of a Potemkin Village--as if the placid facade were nothing more than a theater of normalcy, when what was really at play was eminent domain.
A very long block, walking in the evening quiet, not a soul. But then, remembering that moment on waking this morning, I did see one figure--he was wearing a bucket hat, sweatpants, dark blue vest.
Somebody I knew...
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Where to begin, always where to begin. What are the moments that matter in all of this? According to each one of them...
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Note: I got my streets mixed up. The view above is on Key Route, the route of the old streetcar--I didn't see the sign, and it was only the following day that I realized my mistake. Kains is similar, though--one block up from San Pablo--so, a small narrow residential street one block inside a major thoroughfare. The structural relationship is familiar--like Iberville in New Orleans, one off Canal Street--or Mercer Street in New York, one off Broadway. None of this is fascinating, I admit--but I think the word "desolate" above is connected. something about larger moments and veiled opportunities alongside. Also, Kains (even the name) has a history--the street of last resort, you might say. Where what's-his-name, Ken Knabb--the long-time editor of Situationist writings for American readers--had his place in the old days (back when "having a place" was less impossible...) And where will we be on this now...?
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I'll keep Kains because I love the name...
