The Walk Through the City

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Mollie sat on the bench in Golden Gate Park for a long time. The bridge seemed almost unreal—as if someone had built it from their minds and then placed it in the sky. But at some point, he shook the dust off his paws, adjusted his sunglasses, and sensed that there was more waiting for him. He remembered Percy's words: "When you've seen the bridge, go where the seagulls laugh and the seals sing." Mollie wasn't sure what Percy meant by that, but it sounded promising. And so he continued walking. He left the park on a small side path that led past palm trees and rhododendrons. The city opened up before him like a fan of movement: colorful houses with carved balconies, honking cars, streets with steep hills that almost looked like mountains. Mollie was amazed. There was something going on everywhere. People spoke in languages ​​he'd never heard, wore hats, bags, and telephones. The air smelled of spices, baked waffles, and freshly painted fences. He kept stopping, pushing his glasses up his nose, and trying to figure out where all these people were going.
Then he heard a loud clang-clang. A historic tram rumbled around the corner—painted green and gold. Without hesitation, Mollie jumped aboard and landed on a wooden seat that wobbled slightly. The tram jerked forward, and Mollie held onto the handrail with one paw as the city rushed past.
It was like riding through a movie. There was a man with a saxophone playing on the sidewalk. A dog wore sunglasses. A woman laughed so loudly that pigeons jumped. Everything was movement, sound, and light. And then—a gust of wind that smelled of salt. The streets became flatter, wider, brighter. The tram squeaked, braked, and stopped.
Mollie got off. And there it was: the sea. A silver glimmer on the horizon. Seagulls flew screeching overhead. Somewhere in the distance, he heard a deep, throaty woof-woof that sounded like laughter. Mollie grinned. He was almost there.