Telegraph Hill is a glorious warren
of alleys; I lived on two, at its
pinnacle, Alta and Calhoun. But be-
fore then, I found the Barbary Coast
that lies below the peak, as it has
begun its rise just north of the Pyr-
amid, the block above Ernie's, which
we all know from Vertigo. I didn't
pursue an offer at Osgood, its center,
one block north of Jackson Square, the
block where Bill Stout placed his in-
comparable architecture book store, on
axis from Ferlinghetti's City Lights.
Did I love it; it was an enclosed en-
clave of little verdure and no Bay.
It challenged me at the wrong time.
It was conceived before the Fire, not
far from the City's original battery:
hence, "coast." It deserves the blue.
I would like to have settled with it,
but this is not about regret. It's a
way of lofting a kiss into the wind,
a famished thing to do, to haul it
back upon the mind as cooling fog.
Farrow & Ball
Pitch Blue No. 220