David and Laura were watching two parrots for some folks in Telegraph hill. the house is on the east slope below Coit Tower. The house was a long shore-mans bunk house. Marks on the floor show where the bunks once were. The long shore-man would look out from the windows. When a ship would come in they would hustle down the 100 stairs to the water to unload. Later the house, “or rather cobbled together compound” became a party pad for the owners and their friends in the fifties.
the place is right in the middle of the slope. it is 100 stairs up or down. Every brick and stick of wood had to be carried in to build this place. Evan a sofa is kind of a big deal. Stairs meander through gardens and abolishes the idea of back yards.
A flock of green and red birds swarm around the house with a loud screeching and chatter. They land on a big cypress over the deck. Keep your mouth shut as you look up. There’s maybe 60 or 70 birds up there. The noise is incredible like some crazy theater coming from all directions. Inside the two parrots that are too sick to fly are all a-buzz. The sound of their mates in the tree has them screaming and rattling the cage.
The parrots in the tree are fugitives. Escapees from bird cages around San Francisco. They are a motley crew. Two of the biggest perch in the highest branches scratching with their talons and beaks. One of the smaller birds has plucked all the fir from its chest leaving its gray-pink skin exposed. The longer you watch them the more the flock looks like a group of individuals. One is louder than the rest. Another can’t sit still and hops from branch to branch antagonizing the rest.
Below at the party the conversation turns to underground water. Parts of the Sunset are an enormous sand dune covered with concrete and asphalt. Between the grassy rolling hills of sand were ephemeral pools. Some spring fed watering holes included more permanent ponds. The Sunset is a crackling crust where street-cars’ shifting sleepers sink.