One of my favorite places in San Francisco is the Ferry Building. I know it’s a tourist haven, but for good reason. Those walls contain more delectable delights than you could begin to shake a stick at. I usually pop over there once a week, as it’s enough time away from my desk, and dollars spent on consumables, that it makes the perfect treat for a weekday lunch hour.

Each Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, the Ferry Building hosts an outside market. Farmers from near and nearer bring their foods to sell, and spread out home made goods to sample. On Tuesday’s, Wise Sons deli, from the Mission, has a stand where they peddle the most wicked veggie reuben’s. Now I don’t want to hear your argument about how a reuben can’t be veggie, because I will pop a bite of that beauty in your mouth, and you’ll just quit talking to moan over the flavors.

After I polished off one of those scrumptious eats, I ambled around to see what the farmers had in store for the day. I passed a man I see every once in a while, with his typewriter in hand, offering up poems for a donation. I felt like it was one of those moments where the universe was trying to get me to listen, so I paused and told him I was interested. I offered him five dollars, and he asked me what topic I wanted my poem about; I said, “I’d like one about adventure, sir”!

He got to clack, clacking away, and agreed to have his photo taken. Once finished, he handed me my poem and I thanked him for his time before we parted ways. I started to make my way back towards the office, but curiosity got the best of me, so I stopped at a bench overlooking the water and read this:


Sometimes, you just need a message from a stranger.

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