I don’t know why I set out for parts unknown on a regular basis, of a weekday. I tell myself that I need to get out. Out of the house. Out of my own mind, as it were. And, yes, that phrase with its multiple meanings is entirely appropriate on all levels. More on this later.

For now, I am paying a highly productive visit to Messrs. Sam & Company. And on this drought-stricken day in February, I am happy, not unequivocally, to note that every table in front of his establishment is occupied. Cup’s business is booming, relatively. Not only that, there is an expanded menu. A variation on a theme by ham and cheese in the sandwich department. And, for the first time, enchiladas and, incredibly, burritos. Of course, I’m not exactly chomping at the caloric bit on this or any other morning. So I stick by one of my standbys, granola and a cappuccino, and sit there in the dazzling lethal sunshine trying to make sense of whatever can be made sense of. Which is not much, of course.

So, let us hurtle on to today’s Wall Street Journal. My friend John O’Donnell has an energy-storage startup. All explained in an article. And, by the way, his idea is so startlingly simple, makes use of virtually no rare earths, metals, and so on, and even costs relatively little, but damned if it isn’t one hell of a success. And I think we’re only seeing the beginning.

So there you have it. Some good news mixed with all the rest. And here I am, part of San Francisco’s Tuesday morning Café Society, wondering what to do next. Which is, of course, shopping at Canyon Market. The wine manager there is new, Chris. For some reason, we chatted outside on the sidewalk one day. Oh, yes, I recall. He spotted my copy of Harlem Shuffle and asked if it was any good. Any good, I responded, Colson Whitehead is a major artist. And at that point I held forth on that writer’s achievements. The most stunning of which, to my mind…the one I may or may not be losing…involves his use of magical realism in Underground Railroad. Just a smidgen, if you’re interested. And I got very interested the minute I realized what was happening. So if you haven’t read the book, please give it a shot and let me know what you think. How do you let me know? Call my agent. And when you find out who my agent is, please let me know about that too. I don’t have one.

So there I was at Canyon Market looking for Aurora Sherry. None was to be had. But Chris promised to order some. How had he liked the book? A lot, that was the answer. The answer I wanted. I told him my own assessment of Harlem Shuffle. Whitehead has chosen a less tragic theme this time. And that was good. It was particularly good for me, because that’s one of the problems with the current plague. Somehow everything gets unpleasantly amplified. And, really, I didn’t want to delve too deeply into the country’s many tragedies. Or the world’s. Ottawa. One of the Canadian cities I’ve read about in several novels, always wanted to visit, is now in the course of being trashed by right-wing nuts whose general bile and mishugas seems to have been imported from the lower 48.

Anyway, Chris and I got into an excellent discussion…that wasn’t even a discussion. It was me listening and marveling. This young black guy, thirtyish I would guess, had no trouble understanding why Whitehead would focus on a less dramatic story. It’s just a tale of the times, Harlem, and what it takes for a person to enter, and remain in, the black middle class. Answer: it takes a lot. But it can, it could, and one hopes in the future will be, possible. But there was more. Chris standing at the edge of his wine department, inches away from the fruit and vegetable department in the tiny, very urban Canyon Market, said that since moving to San Francisco he had been amazed at the human potential for new understanding. And that’s what it takes for us to get on in the world. We have to work with each other. We have to love each other. 

I told him he was a prophet. He told me that everyone had to be a prophet these days. Not a profit center, by the way. And that was that. Sort of. I continued on to the dairy section, where I forgot to buy the very thing Jane had asked for. Didn’t matter. I knew why I had to come, to talk to Chris and get out of my fear and pessimism. Which with a semi-lethal virus swirling about, are both hard to avoid. But, as I say, it can be done.