The early morning fog, which makes me think of a journey along the River Styx, has lifted; light comes down through the clouds to touch the hills of San Francisco. A seagull flies into the eastward-blowing ocean wind whipping across the city. Caught by the force of the gale, the bird hovers against the current as I wait for the streetcar, part of San Francisco's MUNI public transportation system. The N-Judah train, which I catch at 9th and Irving a block from Golden Gate Park in the inner Sunset neighborhood of San Francisco, will take me downtown to the peace march.

Yesterday, a work day, stressed people pushed and shoved to find a seat on the packed and crowded streetcar. I feel caught sometimes in the routine of taking the streetcar back and forth to work at City College of San Francisco.

Today I'm headed to a peace march. Instead of the usual workday cursing and rushing, folks are festive on the congested train. Crowds of people carry peace signs bearing anti-war slogans. Babies and baby boomers, the white haired and frail, all banter in excitement as we head downtown to protest the dropping of bombs on Iraq.

Yesterday on the MUNI, a woman sat next to me, frantically shuffling papers while she simultaneously talked on her cell phone. A man yelled at everyone getting on and off, "Hey, don't just stand there! Move on and let the people in!" Everyone looked irritated or scared when they approached him.

Today in the streetcar throng a woman turns to me and says, "It's great to see such a big crowd on the MUNI for a change. I'm thrilled to see such a turnout. We had 100,000 marchers in October. This looks much bigger." Hundreds of people carrying peace signs line the streets at every stop, waiting to get on.

Yesterday people on the streetcar sat half asleep, eyes closed or squinted. Today half the city's population and people from throughout northern California -- reports vary from two hundred thousand to three hundred fifty thousand people -- march for peace in San Francisco without a trace of fatigue in their eyes or smile.

Yesterday, a work day, the driver announced: "We'll have a two-minute wait while we fix the door." And we waited and waited and waited. A man in blue jeans and a Harris-tweed jacket began to pace up and down the aisle looking at his watch every few seconds. Finally he walked up to the driver. "Hell! Let me off this train. I'm reporting you to MUNI!" The man got off, followed by five or six other people searching for other transportation.

Today the driver says: "Don't lean against the door bar. You're keeping the door open on car two. We're going to have to sit here and wait and nobody's going to get to that peace march until we get that door closed." Not a single passenger twitches an eye or scowls. "Hey, let's help the MUNI driver," someone yells from the back. Everyone smiles and laughs as the streetcar jerks forward.

In the city's workday hustle, I don't often have time to connect. Consciously, I force myself to slow down, smile when I meet someone on the street, stop to make light talk with someone even when I'm in a hurry. I try not lose touch with my humanity and neighborhood community.

We who live in San Francisco come from every part of the country, every corner of the world -- Asians, Africans, South Americans, Hispanics, gays and straights, singles and married couples. Anyone can find a place here. Still there are problems. People rushing to and fro get short-tempered. Road rage. Fights. Insults.

Today, some of us here remember that the Free Speech movement began in Berkeley across the Bay in the 1960s. Some may even recall the union strikes at the docks in the 1930s, which helped label San Francisco a union town, and created a different sense of community.

Experts say that San Francisco is one of the most difficult towns in the country to break into. It's hard to find jobs, make friends, and develop community here. San Francisco's housing market is one of the most expensive in the country; more than fifty percent of the population rent, not own. A wedge divides those "who have" and those "who have not." Men and women in business suits avoid those with their possessions in grocery carts. Homeless people beg on corners for money to eat or get a sleeping room. Yes, we have some problems. But, the stimulation of the street is what keeps many writers living here.