I used to live in. San Francisco. The last time I was there was in 1977. It was breathtakingly gorgeous from the (then still working) Fisherman's Wharf, to the street of Painted Ladies, the stern military of the Presidio and Ft. Mason to the graceful Golden Gate Bridge. It was exciting, Grant Avenue exotic, and gently wierd in The Castro.
My friend and I ended our day of nostalgia, since we had both lived there at different times, at The Top of the Mark. I don't drink but in honor of the place and time I had a signature drink, Brandy Alexander. Very creamy.
The Mark was still giving out Squadron Shots. I don't think they still do that. A bottle of scotch was paid for and kept behind the bar by different squadrons. There were quite a few bottles. Anyone belonging to a squadron could get a free shot from that bottle. But, if you get the last shot, you have to buy a new bottle. Tradition.
One Navy Pilot came in for his shot. The last. He found out that the new bottle was $80.00. He grumbled but paid it. As someone paid for his.
I sat there with my friend, looking out over that sparkling city, Russian Hill, Coit Tower, the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts. There never was a city this beautiful. The last time I saw it.
I won't go back. It would be like looking at a dear friend's body decomposing. It breaks my heart, it really does.
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