Minutes later, beneath a frail lattice of cable-car wires, they park and cross into the gauntlet of Castro Street. Rainbow flags swell like sails from telephone poles; clothing boutiques and laser-treatment centers shoulder the upper stories of Golden Age townhomes. Light blanches their bay windows, dazzles the glass doors of delis and pet shops. The lone bank in sight, clad in drab brick, looks like the chaperone at a party.
