A Tale of Two Cities

Strong winds carry the cold air and sulfuric smell of the bay up and down the iconic hills, eventually mixing with the lingering scent of urine and burnt methamphetamines. Walking around, it won’t take long to feel the disconnection between the city, how it wants to appear to the outside, and how it appears to those who call it home. Historic streets are filled with Victorian houses; some are boarded up, paint chipping, and molding falling off. Others are well-kept, with their carved ornamental panels freshly painted. A couple of blocks down, a new high-rise apartment covered in glass is being constructed. Parks are filled with huddled tourists. A person in the middle holds up a bright red flag, ensuring the herd doesn’t venture too far away and onto any wrong streets. But if one does choose to venture to these “wrong streets,” that’s where they will undoubtedly witness this disconnection firsthand.

There, you might see a man sitting on a green milk crate. The lattice on one side is cracked and leaning severely, although he doesn’t seem to notice. His head is slumped over at an uncomfortable angle. He doesn’t want to see the street around him. However, that’s not the reason for his slouched posture. Several people are scattered about the man, all sitting on similarly dilapidated chairs or other objects. A capless needle lies on the ground beside a man sleeping in a wheelchair. A man in a suit wearing Apple AirPod Max’s weaves his way through, watching his step. 

You can stand in the middle of the intersection of Ellis and Jones Street—or countless other streets—in San Francisco and see this same image repeated until there comes a steep hill—the sides of which are lined with Teslas and newer Audi models—and you can no longer see the blue tops of the tarp-covered tents peaking over. The one thing you can see receding down each street is the new LED streetlamps with bright blue banners hung high—a city-wide initiative—that reads: “AROUND HERE WE TEND TO IMPROVE WITH AGE.” 

The historic buildings, buildings synonymous with the city now sit in the background and are shadowed by filth-ruined sidewalks, makeshift dwellings, and souls that have lost their way. If you stand on the corner of Ellis Street, you might see several pigeons land on a sign that simply says “hotel,” the letters in cracked neon tubing, all out of neon. The building's tan brick façade with red trimmed inlaid windows and a zigzagging fire escape dissolves into an empty bar with a large white poster claiming the building as the city's property. One of the windows is board-less and cracked. Inside, chairs and tables are stacked and pushed to a corner. Trash is thrown about the floor, and televisions still hang on the walls near the ceilings. Running down one of the outside walls are several new panels of modern art that have already been graffitied over. A man curled under a thin gray blanket sleeps in the alcove before the doorway. His small, tattered backpack, carrying all of his belongings, is being used as a pillow. Looking around, it seems nearly every storefront shares the same fate.  

Not far away, a van is parked, side door open as it welcomes users of all kinds to take the paraphernalia and certain medical supplies they need for the day. A controversial system started in the 2000s that led to a laundry list of policy changes and propositions, all centered around harm reduction and how to deal with the drug problem—or how not to.  Another banner hangs on a lamp post beside the van that reads: “AROUND HERE WE TEND TO CELEBRATE OUR DIFFERENCES.” 

Every other street offers visitors an alarming clash of sights and emotions. One might find themselves disoriented when they see a man shooting up across the street from the doors to the Museum of Modern Art. It might seem equally disorienting when a crowd walks past the man unfazed, averting their gaze across the street to the museum's sleek architecture, which towers five stories above the San Francisco streets.

However, if one keeps walking a couple more blocks past the abandoned bus station continually plastered with various ads over the years promoting things such as “A New Community Activation,” you will find Sweet Joanna’s—a simple café and sandwich shop near the water. And after your warm greeting upon entering and your longer-than-expected chat with the owner—about whatever he has just read in the paper or what’s going on in the neighborhood—and you get your smoothie and sandwich, you might feel compelled to walk the short distance to the water. There, near the docks and piers, runners and bikers race past tourists leaning over the railing and watching the rough water. Water that is seemingly always rough. Massive ships carrying cargo of every object imaginable move slowly in the distance, disappearing over the horizon. 

A colossal piece of modern art sticks out from the ground across from a dock. It’s in the shape of a bow and arrow. Only the ends of the bow can be seen. The rest of it is made to appear buried. The arrow sticks halfway out of the ground in the middle, with the string resting on top. A man wearing several coats wrapped in a blanket sleeps under the bow's arch. Here, the city’s banner reads: “WHERE BLOCK MEETS PARTY.” 

One day, as I drank my smoothie and ate my sandwich next to the bow and arrow sculpture that the founders of GAP had commissioned, I saw a man standing not too far down the walking path. He was stopping people and asking them for food or money. His clothes were tattered, and he clearly hadn’t shaved in quite a long time. A typical sight you’d see in almost any large city, especially San Francisco. 

Everyone walking past would copy the person in front of them: keep their heads down and avoid contact of any kind—the standard tactic for most people. However, that didn’t deter him, as he kept asking.

This went on for a while without success until one man stopped. He stood for a minute and listened to the homeless man. They had a short conversation—the contents of which could’ve been anything, so I won’t speculate—and then walked together to a store with a café attached. They emerged a few minutes later, with the homeless man now holding a small bag of grocery items and a sandwich wrapped in paper. Another short conversation ensued before they shook hands and parted ways. 

The homeless man walked a few steps and found a railing to lean against. He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. Next to him was a lamppost with a banner that read: “EMPOWERING MANUFACTURERS. CREATING JOBS. TRANSFORMING OUR CITY.”