The Afro-Cuban All Stars concert was excellent, but we were disappointed at not seeing the octogenarian founders of the group. We drank a great deal, and we spent money. Luis and I were still wandering around at 2 am, after having a gin and tonic at some downstairs bar in the Gaslamp. There was no sign out front, and none of the other patrons knew the name of it when I asked. Luis named it "Fifteen Steps to Freedom" after having counted the steps it took to get down into it (or get out of it, depending on your perspective). The walls were crimson, it was crowded, and we sat on mismatched velour furniture. A good place. I wrote this journal entry the next morning. I was feeling fine, but Luis and Charlotte were deeply comatose. They would no doubt curse their existence upon awakening. I went for coffee and a walk. The hotel coffee sucked, and the lounge where the fabulous continental breakfast was laid out was appointed and populated like the dining area of a retirement home. I went for a walk. It was a stunning morning. It was sunny and crystal clear. Most importantly, I was in the mood to be where I was. I think that's essential to enjoying an idyllic moment.
Journal Excerpt, dated May 10, 2003
9 am-- The Spice House Cafe, Ash & 9th Street
What a beautiful morning. I have never been to this particular area before. Tall apartment buildings, semi-quaint small apartment buildings. And here I am in a restaurant that has not been redecorated since 1970. Perfect. Naugahide seats at the counter. This place is open 6 am to 3 pm. It's an idyllic moment.
This omelette is as big as a fucking armadillo. Gyro meat, feta, and tomatoes. Goodass crap.
I like downtown. I suppose I'm in the mood for it. Old places- places with personality. More cracks for people to fall through. That's a drawback--lots of homeless people.