Powell & Heatley

The first garland goes up

Late afternoon, already dark and a drizzling rain. Walking along Powell Street, I felt kind of nervous and conspicuous with my ladder and an armful of garland, but no one payed me any attention. I'd scouted out the spot on the bus earlier today, thought it would be good as it's on the morning commuter route into the city. At the foot of the overpass that leads to the docks, under an awning full of holes where the old Anchor club used to be - Sarah.