San Francisco, Day 4.

7:20 a.m. I find a tiny swath of sun on the concrete ledge outside the gym and sit with my first iced tea of the morning, though I've been awake for two hours, and a cigarette, not my first. I'm only there a minute when a stranger approaches. "Can I have a cigarette?" he asks. I give him one, hoping he'll leave, but he sits down next to me. "Do you want to take my picture?" he asks. "Sure, your tattoo," I say, and snap two shots of the tattoo on his arm. "So what did you do last night?" he asks. "I went to bed early.. midnight," I say. "Oh," he says. "I went to bed at eight o'clock, three days ago." I assume this means he's been up ever since. "Do you think I need a haircut?" he asks. "There's a barber right over there." I'm pretty sure the barber, which is actually a fussy hair salon, is not open yet. "No, you're good," I say.

8:13 a.m. As I pass the man in the suit, he smiles. "Good morning," he says. We're the only two people on the street, Market Street. "Good morning," I reply and keep walking past him. A moment later I hear behind me, he says, "VERY cute." I turn back to see him looking at me, and I smile again. "Thanks," I say.

8:22 a.m. Dean texts me hello. He doesn't know that I can see him, crossing the street, just a half block away. We go to breakfast at La Taza, which used to be something else before it was something before it was something else. Everywhere is like that here. My pancakes are delicious but my eggs taste like fish.

11:03 a.m. I arrive at Peet's a few minutes late to meet David, but I expect he's going to be even a few minutes later than I am, since he has to come down the hill. I see my friend Vince and I tell him I've sort of moved back to Philadelphia. He feels my forehead, as if I'm delirious, and his hand is freezing.

1:22 p.m. I walk David to his car, and we hug goodbye, with a very tentative plan to see each other later. The hug doesn't feel like a goodbye, but an affirmation of the connection we've always had.

7:05 p.m. I cross the street, jaywalking, to go say hi to Martin, who I just saw on Friday night and finally became Facebook friends with the day before. We've known each other four, maybe five years and always enjoyed one another's company. "I never knew you were such an amazing photographer," he says. "Me neither," I say.

7:20 p.m. Sitting outside the gym, waiting for Kurt to finish his workout, a stranger comes up and asks me for a cigarette. I give him one, offer him a light, but he has his own lighter that he struggles with for a painfully long time. He's clutching a plastic bag full of medication bottles and once he gets the cigarette lit he turns backs to me. "So what are you doing?" he asks. "I'm waiting for a friend," I say. "Oh," he replies, as if I've confused him, and walks away. "You're good," I say, to no one.