My memory of the three years I lived in San Francisco are all jumbled like plastic toys in a gumball machine. The years I spent there were filled with many long days, late nights, and spontaneous trips. Most of the people I knew experienced the same. I live in New York City now.
People move to New York to make it.
They reinvented themselves so often and so rapidly that as soon as I got to know someone it seemed they had already gone on to reinventing themselves again. The Dan I knew was only a trace of the Dan that was. Which is why I love these two photographs of Dan. In these photographs we see only a trace of Dan which foretells his soon departure from the earth and testifies to the everpresent molting of individuals in San Francisco. My first memory of Dan is of he, John McNally, and I at Small Press Traffic, a small book store which sold exclusively small press books, mainly poetry, and hosted workshops and readings.