From the ruins of the Sutro Baths it had looked like a piece of driftwood. Driftwood worn smooth with the tide's ebb and flow; steady down the California coast. Seaweed hung around the edges where the water departed, leaving the damp sand to sparkle like obsidian.
From the ruins of the Sutro Baths it had not looked like the headless sea lion it was. It had not smelled of the sea and rot. It was merely a shape.
I got close. Close enough to see. I slid down the sandstone face of the cliff around Sutro. Through the purple flowers...
In perhaps one of the most random architectural faux pas dealt by the late 60s/early 70s, a set of three large metal ladybugs was clamped to the side of an office tower. I'm relatively certain that, as kids, those of...