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We went east on First to Bryant and turned south and though we looked for Phy all along the way we did not see him. We did not go into the building. It seemed closed and there didn't seem to be anybody around. It was perfectly intact though, and so we relieved ourselves of that concern. In fact we saw no damage at all anywhere in our whole journey through the city.
The only traffic problems we had, as every light was out stop and go, was at two places on the way home. There were volunteers in these intersections directing traffic, thinking they were doing the greatest service in the world. Actually they had traffic backed up for half a long block at least, in all four directions and at both places. When we got home Phy was waiting for us. He had walked. Perhaps I found out later or maybe Sonoma had a battery radio, that what we thought were fires, was actually dust from collapsed rubble, although there may have been fires in the north of the city. About dusk maybe eight in the evening, I went back up on the hill. It was crowded with people. Some were saying they were going to spend the night there, afraid to sleep in the house.
It didn't worry me; I slept in my hut. That hill was all rock. Actually I liked it in my hut, complete privacy and isolation. It is where I began and wrote philosophical analysis, page after page of ball-point scribble on paper. I always used the astronaut pen made famous by Seinfeld, a roller ball which was relatively new in those days called Uni-Ball, which I bought at an office supply store maybe on Bryant Street. I laid on my back and wrote on a twelve inch clip-board which was always inclined, almost upside down.
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