PROLOGUE
Once each day, only for a moment, San Francisco is dappled gray. It happens on the edge of dawn when the fog-snuggled city and bay are caught in perfectly balanced hesitation between faltering night and the sun splash of morning.
Lester never missed it. And, when the moment was gone, its illusion banished by color and form, he never failed to thank God for the honor of its witness and to bless Him good morning.