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...
Leftover from an age before motor vehicles. A time when streets didn't need to be of any specific width. Peculiar alleyways. I think i have sen this particular alleayway in a painting named Tinker's Alley, although the street sign describes...