Night Train 21
San Francisco—Fisherman’s Wharf, Russian Hill, the cable cars—it’s a beautiful town if you have money and I didn’t so I ended up back at Boyle Heights. Some weeks passed and Jack disappeared for a while and the food supply dried up. One morning I was walking along Broadway. I was famished. I hardly knew where I was. Suddenly a squarely-built man in cook’s whites stepped out of a doorway and seized my shoulder in a powerful grip. “You help me move steam tebble,” he said. “You come. I show.” Like... Sign in to see full entry.