One morning, I walked past the place where the Living Voltaire usually sits, and he wasn’t there. He is usually there in his spot, observing the neighborhood, greeting certain dogs, talking to certain people, dispensing small pieces of wisdom like loose change from a pocket.
But that morning, nothing. No Living Voltaire.
Every morning, I take my walk from Point Loma to Ocean Beach – about three miles in total – and every time, it feels like a little adventure. The path winds through the quirky, creative heart of Voltaire Street, where every corner hums with energy and personality. There’s always something going on: a spontaneous drum