The hill behind them blocked the sun. What had been a golden summer evening was transforming, moment by moment, into a world of shadows, a thousand shades of gray punctuated by the white globes of streetlights, a few piercing streaks of neon. The lights of the city winked on around them, reflecting out onto the water, a flat, dark void with the man-made paradise of Treasure Island in its center. San Francisco was a beautiful city, but it was a city—brick and stone, grays and browns, vertical lines, right angles, and uniform patterns of windows repeated building by building, block by block,
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