The streetcar was crowded this morning.

Raw humanity in its most telling and exposed form painted a tapestry of color, of diversity, crackling noticeably in the morning air.

The human intention, the wants and goals of the citizens of this reality hung, like summer dresses, beautiful in their simplicity, and their materialism, out to dry.

The conversations and emotions of the passengers rocked, jerkily, in time with the movements of the streetcar…as if they too were being blown in the wind.

Every fare was overpaid. Just $50 cents was paid as a dollar. No one made exact change, for the savings simply was not worth their time.

Seniors stood, stumbling and leaning in the crowd, as youngsters who did not speak English sat, luxuriously flaunting their comfortable seated real-estate.

The driver answered a question for the twenty-seventh time that week, and sighed.

Children stared at me, wondering why this funny man happened to be standing so close. “What is this gathering for?” they must have thought in the rapidly maturing parts of their minds.

And what would my answer be? If I could speak to them using a developed vocabulary, I fancy I would tell them it is a celebration: A celebration of a fulfillment, a satisfaction, a healing of the “aching heart”.

In an outpouring of creative genius, “A Writer’s San Francisco”, the inspiring words of Eric Maisel simply states:

“An aching heart needs an ice cream cone in a new location, a change of flavors, a choice of picture postcards to send to loved ones to whom it never says “I love you” except when it is on vacation. The heart needs an oddity or two, something to make it smile.”

Eric’s words resonate when riding a streetcar, in the most tourism-oriented location in San Francisco.

His words provide not a justification, but a self-identifying reason for enjoying the view of the tapestry.