Blocker: 1000 Folsom

It’s a warm and breezy summer afternoon on the sidewalks of this former industrial district, and we’re coming up on a man pushing an ice cream cart with one hand and cradling a slice of pizza on a folded paper plate in the other. He’s all glares - clearly not the benevolent ice cream vendor of our youth. He shares a bit of resemblance with Carlos Santana, but his low-slung black “Oakland” visor, tight white tank top, mean mustache, and surly body language pretty much say, Get your goddamn ice cream, then get the hell out of my face, softhands. All his flavors may be guaranteed to satisfy, but we don’t stop him when he’s passing by.

In true South of Market fashion, traffic’s a constant here. A constant flow of cars hogs the four-lane spotlight and produces a continual racket, but Folsom is a primary biking thoroughfare as well. Meanwhile, the sidewalk teems with life: A half-block past Ice Cream Man and his alfresco dessert cart’s cloying bells, we cross paths with another sometimes-misanthropic species, Letter Carrier Man. Meanwhile, a father on a bike trails his young son on a push-scooter, while a few steps behind, a woman in a pink cap pushes a baby in a stroller. Normal enough. Then the coup de grace: An Ozzy look-alike in a black trenchcoat at the corner of 7th, dark feline draped over his left shoulder and all. The fuzzy pet isn’t completely into the idea, from the looks of things.

And then the SFPD Bomb Squad truck comes barreling down the street. And then it’s gone. Did that really just happen? Was our photographer really asleep on the job?

We cross the road and poke around a bit, where it appears to be a quiet afternoon at Soma Inn, a dark café with a couple of unoccupied sidewalk tables. Not far down the block, we come across OneTaste at the corner of Folsom and Moss, a minor side street. We had an interesting conversation with a OneTaste “insider” (read: resident) at one point awhile back, so we’ve heard a few of the stories. To some people, it’s a neighborhood spot for yoga; to others, it’s a place to attend classes and workshops on relationships and increased overall awareness - or on more straightforward topics like bondage and flogging. Some even go so far as to call the place a live-in sex cult. Of course, barely none of this is gathered from its innocent exterior.

The message is a little more clear at glorious Victoria Manalo Draves Park back on the other side of the street. A surprise sight in this pavement-happy part of town, this sizable greenspace is an oasis for families in this previously park-deficient neighborhood, or for anyone who’s always wondered what it’s like to play basketball on a really blue court.

Light industry persists at First California Press, just as it has for decades. The outfit’s lift-door is open when we walk by its home at 1075 Folsom, affording glimpses of a guy in a Nirvana T-shirt at the helm of what appears to be a book-binding contraption. Nearby at 1095, the worn and faded signage still says Patterson Parts, Inc., but it’s clear there aren’t parts for much of anything on offer here – let alone by anyone named Patterson. The “Inc.” is surely yet another ruse.

At the far east end of the block, where we crossed paths with Cat-Toting Fellow not long before, 1015 Folsom isn’t much in its element at 3PM on a Monday. No security gorillas frisking the hell out of Party People hopefuls. No thumping beatz. And by all means, as the sign out front implores, Please refrain from shouting. It’s bound to have some competition around town, but the building itself is a clear frontrunner in San Francisco’s Most Faceless Structure Olympiad. The place has been in a state of arrested homeliness for years – and staunchly so. In fact, if there’s a relationship between a product’s long-unaltered packaging and its ability to survive over many years, this cavernous room that’s been hosting superstar DJs since the invention of the phonograph needle must be the Arm & Hammer of San Francisco nitespots. We could all learn a thing or two from 1015 Folsom.

Of course, we’ve saved the troublesome back hair issues for last. Beyond a clutch of new lofts that bears the certain brunt of 1015’s rogue shouters, the San Francisco Institute of Esthetics & Cosmetology offers remarkably affordable deals on basic pedicures, cuts and styles, revitalizing eye treatments, and bikini and back waxes. Learn from our mistakes, America: Look great and be ready for anything, even if it’s only the Bomb Squad truck whizzing by in a huff and fury.

(Photos by the author.)