About them apples

On Clement Street, two doors down from the intersection of Sixth Avenue, there's a bookstore planted firmly among the rows of Chinese restaurants and knick knack shops. It's the only place within five blocks without signage in Chinese characters. The green awning advertises "New & Used Books, Music, & More" in plain old English. A large neon sign sits high above, ready for use when the sun sets. This bookstore closes at 11:30 pm on Fridays and Saturdays. I make a mental note to return and stalk the rows for a date. Any girl who's at a bookstore on a party night is a girl for me.

This is the Inner Richmond, known to locals as the real Chinatown, or perhaps Chinatown Part II. I am there in the afternoon, late to meet my friend after her dentist appointment. Rushing into the bookstore, I don't expect much. The sight of weathered walls of books, seemingly chaotic but actually carefully organized inch by inch, stretching endlessly into the distance tips me off that this will be an experience. Anywhere else I'd feel claustrophobic with the walls heaving inward, but in a bookstore I'm excited. Close confines means they've chosen selection over comfort. I like that. Most of the section cards are hand-printed and in a variety of fonts. It looks like a middle school hallway exploded.

Snudging my way to the poetry section (where I'm pretty certain my friend will be) I see a zine I purchased on Valencia Street last year, "Support" by Cindy Crabb. It's about sexual abuse. Next to it is another Crabb produced zine, "Learning Good Consent." This one's about well, consenting to sex. They are turned out facing the passer-by, under the "Issues" section. They are both indeed issues. I pick up a copy of each for three dollars apiece, thinking they could be useful as gifts.