Stylish Mollie at Pier 39

More about Stylish Mollie at Pier 39

Mollie followed his nose – and the seagulls. They circled above him, calling loudly as if trying to guide him to his destination. The air was salty and warm, mingled with the scent of cotton candy, caramelized nuts, and freshly baked bread. Then another world opened up before him. Pier 39. A colorful, bustling place built out into the ocean – made of wood, music, and wondering eyes. Small shops stood everywhere, selling flying T-shirts, souvenirs, postcards, seashells, and bubble machines. Children laughed. A man on stilts juggled oranges. Two tourists squealed with joy because a pelican had come too close. Mollie stopped, taking it all in. His fur prickled. He had never seen so many colors at once. A small carousel squealed and turned, accompanied by a cheerful melody. It smelled of adventures packed into paper bags. Then he heard it. That strange, deep-throated sound—somewhere between a cough, a grunt, and a laugh. Curious, he groped closer to the railing. And there they were: sea lions. Dozens of them. Fat, round, shiny. On wooden platforms floating on the water, they lay in the sun, blinking, pushing each other, yelping, yawning, rolling over each other. One seemed particularly lazy, letting a seagull chatter on his face without even opening an eye. Mollie laughed softly. "If Percy could see this," he murmured. "He'd write a story right away." He sat down on a nearby bench, pulled off his backpack, and dug out his small portable typewriter. The keys clicked softly while the sea lions snored and the seagulls circled. The sun moved slowly, casting golden streaks across the deck. And Mollie wrote. About bridges, parks, trams, seagulls – and about the feeling of being somewhere for the first time where you don't know anyone, but still feel like you're in the right place.