Author : David Bastin
It was the third year of the drought of 2130 when San Francisco rebuilt itself, put out to sea, and sailed away.
At first, when they heard what San Francisco meant to do, everyone laughed. Nobody thought that the people of San Francisco were serious.
“Do you expect it to float?” they asked.
“Yep!” said the people of San Francisco.
They kept right on building.
The people of San Francisco were simple and practical, and they built San Francisco that way. They built it with plastic and teakwood and glass. They shaped it in spheres and donuts and coils, and they put a promenade deck on the top; and they capped the whole thing with a city hall and a bridge and a mast with one sail.
“We’re not in a hurry to get anywhere” they explained.
San Francisco was self-contained and self-sufficient.
“We’ve got everything we need,” said the people of San Francisco.
At the end, when San Francisco cast itself off, some people got scared.
“What about the commuters?” they cried. “What are the commuters supposed to do without any San Francisco?”
The mayor’s voice, amplified by a bullhorn, answered the question across a widening expanse of water.
“Berkeley!” said the mayor. “Send the commuters to Berkeley or tell them to Oakland!!”
The mayor’s voice was now fading and faintly audible.
“Or tell them to go to ….”
His final words were lost, carried away on winds blowing onto California’s coast from beyond the Golden Gate.
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