I’m sitting here in a coffee shop on the corner of Mission Blvd. and A Street in downtown Hayward, CA. Quick, what is the name of the coffee shop? Yeah, it’s a Starbucks. If there is a better place in Hayward to get a good cup o’ joe and hang out, I don’t know about it.

I’m sitting here by the window and watching the traffic roll by. I think of how much this particular corner has changed since I’ve been alive. And continue to think about how much it has changed over the last 50, 100, 150 years. When you’re Tom Bissell you have time to hang out in places like this and ponder things of this nature.

I’ve been in places like this before. In Chico, in San Francisco, in Berkeley, and others; doing the same thing as I’m doing now. I’m listening to the canned jazz that all Starbucks stores like to play. I wonder who picked this stuff? I never hear any Miles Davis or Dexter Gordon or Dave Brubek.

And how come they only play jazz in coffee houses? I’ve never heard any death metal in Starbucks.

There is an old, boarded-up restaurant across the street called “Zorns”. This place has been there for as long as I can remember. For about the last 5 years or so it’s been boarded up. I keep waiting for some new, 24 hour type joint to open up. Hayward needs more 24 hour places. My sleep schedule demands this.

I want to live in a 24 hour town.

Damn, this gingerbread latte ain’t bad.

On a lampost across the intersection there is a very large banner with a nice picture of All Saints cathedral. It reads, “Discover Downtown Hayward: Heart of the Bay”. In my mind I’ve crossed out “Heart” and replaced it with “Armpit”.

Two motorcycle cops ride by and I wonder if one of them is ol’ Officer Rodriguez. I hated that motherfucker. He gave me no less than 3 tickets in high school. I suppose he was just doing his job.

At a table across the room from me sit two older women. Something tells me they are teachers. I can just smell these things. They look frumpy, like all teachers do. They are hunched over a laptop computer, frowning and sighing loudly. I’m wearing my “geek.” shirt today; and I’m typing furiously away at my own laptop. One of them throws her hands up in frustration. The other one makes a phone call and I overhear something about “district issued laptop” and “mentor teacher”. One of them looks at me pleadingly. Should I help them?

[Tom goes to help them]

I’m back. It was a simple problem, and the solution was obvious to me. They thanked me several times. Apparently they’ve been trying to fix it for an hour. And yes, they were both teachers. Hayward Unified. They didn’t know my mom or my sister.

Can someone please give me a job fixing shit like this?

I walk outside and the two motorcycle cops from earlier are sipping lattes on the patio. I approach them and ask about ol’ GriGriGri. He’s a sheriff now; no longer a Hayward cop.

I’m feeling kinda dreamy today. Maybe it’s because my sleep schedule is all wonky again. I’m sleeping days and I’m up most of the night. Yesterday though I managed to sleep from 5pm ’til 2am.

I take a drive around downtown Hayward and end up at the library. This is not the place I remember from my youth. I guess if you’re homeless in Hayward this is the place to be. I take a walk around the building and notice all the shopping carts full of trash. There are bums sleeping in the bushes and on the benches. I can’t stop staring, caring, pitying them. A little voice tells me, “this could be you, one day”.

There is a long line of homeless people starting at the sidewalk and winding it’s way around the square. At the curb is a van with its doors open. Two ladies are handing out blankets and warm meals.

I walk across the street to the post office. I’m struck by the irrelevance of both structures in our modern age. A library and a post office? Who actually uses either of these things any more? That is, besides old folks clinging to the old ways… Still, the architecture of the building is decidedly old and somehow “cool” to me. They don’t make buildings like these any more. I walk inside to ask about the history of the building, but nobody knows anything about it.

I take another drive around downtown Hayward.

Why do I keep coming down here? What am I looking for? This place has changed a lot since I was a kid. But still, it doesn’t have that certain something that I’m looking for. Belmont Shore this is not. Downtown Chico this is definitely not.

Hayward, armpit of The Bay.

I end up at The Bistro again. Only this time the bookstore next door is open. I spend an hour looking through all the books. It’s small and cramped. There are piles of books in every corner. I look up at the ceiling and there are water stains in random spots. This is not your bigbox Barnes and Noble or Borders. I smile and nod. Yes, I’d rather shop here.

A translation of the epic poem “Beowulf” calls to me. I’ve read it before, albeit a poor and boring translation. This one is modern and very readable. The gangly hipster snarky metrosexual manboy behind the counter rolls his eyes at me while the girl rings me up. Apparently I’m not cool enough to be in there, or maybe I wasn’t cool enough to understand the complexity of Beowulf. Who knows? Could have been my fleece camo jacket. Oh wait, isn’t camo in style right now? Whatever.

So I walk next door to The Bistro with my new book.

Is 10am too early for a beer? Not when Pliny the Elder is on tap. I have a few pints and finish writing this shit on my laptop.

Fin.