Polaroid of me at the Ferry BuildingIt was a gorgeous day on Sunday the 18th. The bay was a pristine regal blue, which was really just a reflection of the completely clear sky. The breeze was just the way I liked it, like a gentle woman streaming her fingers through your hair. It was actually such a great day that I thought I’d pop open a beer and guzzle it down before noon. I slung my accordion onto my back, made a side sweeping motion with my index finger and thumb on the front brim of my fedora, and walked out the door.

As I was walking around in my neighborhood, the buzz of the alcohol started to creep over my shoulders and made me feel really lethargic. “Shit, why did I drink? I always forget that drinking alcohol gives me bad luck,” I thought to myself. I sucked it up and started walking towards north beach. At this point my limbs were like jello, which made it difficult for me to carry the monstrous machine. I had only had one beer, but I hadn’t eaten all day. “Fuck it,” I thought, and my strides became twice as big.

I found a nice corner on Columbus st. and played for a couple hours, making me around fifty dollars. Watching peoples’ faces light up as I played made my face light up even more than it already was.

I was starting to get hungry, need to piss, and the beer was starting to ware off, making me tired. So I decided I would go find a restaurant, buy a cappuccino and use their restroom. All the money-stuffed tourists jammed almost all the restaurants to a pulp. All except for one. The reason people weren’t going there was because it was one of those kinds of restaurants that you knew only the richest of the rich went to. I walked in and was greeted by a waiter who was dressed in a tuxedo and had a folded white linen napkin hanging over the sleeve of his forearm.

I asked him if it would be alright if I sat the bar. I mainly wanted to get out of the wind so I could count my money, and be able to set my accordion down. I ordered a cappuccino, went to the restroom, came back and started to count the money. One bill after the other. The bartender asked, “Oh a street musician, new to the area?” I responded yes to both, which sparked a pretty good conversation. As I was leaving, I wanted to pay, but the bartender, Sammy was his name, said it was on him. I very gratefully thanked him and went on my way.

I walked down Columbus a couple more blocks to the area where there are large trees dividing the road in half. I set up shop again, and this time, I noticed the door girl at a restaurant across the street who was smiling at me. I’d occasionally smile back at her. When I was done playing I yelled across the street and said, “You have a beautiful smile!” that made her smile even bigger and coyly look at the ground. I waved goodbye and went on my way. Never got her name.

I then stumbled into what I think is now my favorite cafe in San Francisco. It had the word bohemian in the title so I knew it must be good. I sat down inside and ordered an espresso. As I was sipping the espresso, the waitress came up to me and said, “we really like what you’re doing. We’ll give you a free meal if you play in here for a couple minutes.” I accepted. The place was filled with italians, french people and some eccentric artistic looking people. Everyone loved the music. I even got tips on top of the free food and espressos that the cafe gave me.

After that I went to the 16th and Mission BART station and played some more. I didn’t count how many hours i had played that day but I’m pretty sure it was around seven hours of just playing. There was a lot of walking involved though, so it turned out to be a 12 hour day. The last big event that excited me was when I was playing at the BART station, and teenaged girls and their mother started dancing to my music. It put a huge smile on my face, which caused me to dance with them. It was a blast.

I counted my money at the end of the day when I got home.

$120 to the penny. Great experiences, great people, great coffee, great food and great money. A true Sunday Smile.