The one time they were here together his dream was to visit Grant Street. It's all tourist bullshit: electronics and postcards and the ginormous kite store where my friend once toiled behind a register. Yet his grin was real. His sense of awe, a kind of accomplishment: I've made it to the famous Chinatown of San Francisco. Never a dream he'd realistically imagined.
I took them to Brandy Ho's, more for her than him. Spicy food isn't truly his thing. We shared chilled chicken salad. It was part of his Chinatown experience, but I think something up the road in Little Italy might have better suited his tastes.
Grant Street stands out. Now and forever the moment when my brother from afar first found famous San Francisco.
Apart from that the visit was stressful. Her mercurial unpredictability, and her incipient violence. Jonesing for alcohol she'd forsworn for the duration, her sober best behavior. He and I each keenly aware that could shatter at any time.