My controller has been tutoring me in the basic task. This involves getting on and off big ships in the dead of night, twelve miles out at sea, possibly in rough weather. He shows me the transfer boat, and we practice getting on and off it. It is a thoroughly thrilling idea: will I prove up to it?
But the main task of the day is to follow some grown-up ladies across SF. I have to leave my beloved Stetson behind, and wear a ball cap. They drag me all the way along the Embarcadero, where I pretend I am a tourist taking pointless photos, 
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across Fisherman's Wharf, where I momentarily lose them behind, of all things, a Blackpool Tramcar, 
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and up Hyde on the trolley. 
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They are unaware I am following them. SFPD nearly spook them by failing to conceal themselves properly 
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They get off at Union Square, and indulge in the free WiFi. They're really only using the screen as a mirror, so that they can admire me. Having satiated themselves, they repair to the second Irish bar they pass, imagining I will be unable to manage that. They are obviously not aware it serves the splendid Sierra Nevada Pale Ale on draft.
They enjoyed a bit of Wimbledon on the TV: it contained a very traditional moment, with the plucky Brit going down in the fourth. Then, as we had known they would, they went off on the 49-mile Culture Bus. Someone was waiting for them. I could relax with some more pale ale.
Suitably fortified, I head back to the transit boat, via the Larkspur Ferry. I ask the Grown-up lady at the ticket booth for a one-way trip. "You can only go one way now", she says. She then coyly asks me if I'm an adult: "You judge that", I tell her. "I mean", she says, "are you a senior?"
"Well, of course I am", I tell her. She lets me travel for half-price.
Then it's out across the bay, 
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into the setting sun 
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for my next encounter with destiny.
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