When we got to the base of the trail something in me was almost crying. Jane had been talking about this for some time, a path that leads from the commercial center of our neighborhood, then through a park and finally a canyon, which in turn…if you block out the four-lane presence of Portola Boulevard…takes a serious hiker to the summit of Twin Peaks.

I am not a serious hiker, of course. I am a serious shut in, let us say. For this is my first adventure in the exterior coronavirus world. The interior version I know all too well. But, no, Jane and I are out and we have begun our adventure by journeying a good eight streets away in search of cappuccino. My favorite café is open, according to Jane’s report. And upon arrival, we find that these days the place is open only about six hours a week, and not on this particular Tuesday. Everything is like this. Hours restricted, services cut back, options limited.

Nevermind. We head for Café Bello, almost as frequented by me. But transformed, and although I understood the general details, the reality was something else. There’s a reason why they call it café society. Cafés are all about society. Not now. This, and every other café in San Francisco, is now about serving coffees to take away, to limited numbers of customers at a time, with the market, as it were, standing outside in designated two-meter spacings. Fortunately, we came at the right time. No queue. No wait. And like the Lone Ranger, I did my best to give them the warmest of greetings with a mask on.

The guy in the pet store waved as we went by, and Jane went inside to look for kibble while the proprietor and I had a distanced chat. His back was bothering him. I told him he had my every sympathy. He was conflicted about what to do. Some advised not lying down but standing as much as possible. I told him I didn’t know. He looked worn. Normally a cross-dresser, sometimes with a diamond choker and ill-fitting evening gown, today he was in a very un-festive blue jeans and T-shirt. Coronavirus doesn’t help celebrate diversity or celebrate anything.

I felt a little more concerned inside the cheese shop. The couple and their assistant were all present, a good sign. The place was marked off with barriers and signs to stand here and don’t stand there, and keep away from this and avoid that. But their manner was as it always has been. No particular change, except of course that speaking through a surgical mask makes everything a little hard to understand. They had a good deal on blue Stilton. And an Italian goats milk/cow milk combo. Not to mention some English cheddar. Hummus, of course. Cadbury’s chocolate fingers. I couldn’t resist, having been pent up for weeks. There was quite a queue waiting outside the shop, once I emerged.

And then finally, home. But only briefly. Jane sprayed my fingers with disinfectant. I had, she pointed out, pressed the pedestrian button at the corner of walk and don’t walk. And under any circumstances imaginable, this would seem too silly for words. But this is a disease that can spread, and frequently does, via human hands. And human hands touch public controls like streetlight buttons, ATMs, doorknobs and so on. I let Jane spray.

But I was out the door immediately, and down the street to Bird & Beckett, our local bookstore/jazz club. The neighborhood is very proud of the place. Which is a good thing. We should be proud. The name derives from the two greats, Charlie Parker and the absurdist playwright. No jazz these days, of course. Though actually this isn’t quite true, something does get on the Internet periodically. As for books, with the libraries somehow closed…they have been repurposed for child care and other services…I have been buying more than ever.

The shop is normally quite a neighborhood center. Not now. Customers cannot even enter. I waited just outside until the lone person before me had concluded speaking over the half door. Then I took my place. Hello Eric, I said. He was looking pretty shaggy, like everyone these days, haircuts as we know them having ceased. I rattled off books, he rattled off status of orders, and we came to a simple conclusion. One check for everything, on order, delivered, and unknown. It didn’t matter. What was known was that the store was still there. And so was I. And although these days there is no guarantee concerning either, there never was.