Usually, all you hear are crickets and frogs. Sometimes the occasional late night Caltrain — though that isn’t as common by this time of night. The 23rd street bridge going over the Caltrain tracks is steep, and there’s not much there. Pennsylvania Avenue has a few lofts on this side of the hill, but otherwise, it’s very industrial; just a few warehouses and parking lots to said warehouses. To hear a sound other than a train whistle (or a frog croaking, or a car going overhead on the 280 bridge) is quite alarming.
Clack, clack, clack. Click. Click. Clack. Clack. I stopped. That’s not a frog. Or a train. Or a car. What is that? To my left was the Caltrain tunnel heading towards the South Bay. To my right was the tunnel heading toward San Francisco’s last stop at 4th and King. Ahead of me was the San Francisco Food Bank, which was clearly closed for the night. And behind me was the 3rd Street Muni stop from which I came. There’s nothing around me that I can see that would make such a noise. What on earth was that?
As I continued to cross the bridge, Clack, clack, clack. Click. Clack. That sounds like a can of spray paint being shaken. Oh. Duh.
Under the bridge that I was walking on were the train tracks, and on each side of those tracks were graffiti-​​covered concrete walls. I’ve never actually seen anyone put those colorful paintings up. I stopped again, and walked toward the side edge of the bridge. It took my eyes a moment to adjust, peering into the darkness below. When things got clearer, I noticed a shape — and then realized there were two eyes looking up at me. There was a man standing there, peering up at me. We were making eye contact.
I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. It was only a graffiti artist… But I slowly backed away from the edge and then ran home.
