Geronimo and I were driving past the BART Station at the south-east corner of 16th and Mission. Even through the closed windows of the car we could hear a woman shouting through one of those public speaking mikes.
“Jesus viene para salvarlos! Quiten sus pecados!” Et cetera.
The arrival of Jesus was imminent, according to her. But I had been hearing her colleagues bellowing the same thing for the forty years I had passed that corner.
I told Geronimo that, and he said, right. And the neighbors have been complaining about it for forty years. The noise, you know. Every Saturday and Sunday. And the police never did anything about it.
As the light turned green I glanced over there. A hundred people were walking by the shouter, but not a soul was turned her way.