The air has a tiny bite, like a hungry little mouse nibbling at a pants leg. The light flits and flitters, dancing its way among and between those that stumble blearily in the direction of the corner coffee shop.
Jack London Square. An area that was once pure work, warehouse, nestled up against the Bay and the Port of Oakland with the 880 freeway nudging its butt.
The area that is now a confused juxtaposition of boxey lofts, bright condos…and
Morning at Jack London Square. I am on my bicycle with my baby girl in the Burley behind.
I stop, relish the almost-naked feel to the broad street I have turned upon
Then, half a block up, stop again to gaze at the hustle.
Asparagus, fresh from…South America?
Asian produce, right from the docks. It's smell and movement here
The Chinese workers
half glare as I block their front loaders.
I want to stay longer and watch. But I don't. I have somewhere I need to be and I know I shouldn't even be stopping.
Moving on, more lofts.
I wonder – nostalgic before I need to be – how much longer the morning trade, the working warehouses will be here?
I stop again. Broadway.
"Remember Who You Are" - let's.
The street has changed again – that seems to be the spirit of this area: change.
Evidently, Jack London really did live here, in this hut, for a spell. I don't know how true it is, but that's what the plaque says.
A 5 block flow through coffee, trade, gym touting it's trangender friendliness, cubes to live in, vegan soul and brick factories that my Great-Grandfather probably walked by.
Jack London Square.