One noteworthy piece of information regarding the apartment I rented: It was, coincidentally, up on Blithedale Ridge, high enough that I had a clear and direct view of Casa Diez on the opposite knoll. And while I did find it comforting to be able to see the lights of October’s kitchen from my bedroom, it pained me to stand on the deck at night, look out, and think, If I hadn’t been such a pussy, I’d live over there right now.

I drove to SFMoMA on Sunday, October 21, and arrived fifteen minutes before the museum opened. By the time I turned onto Third Street, I could see the line for Sorrow. It started at the Howard Street entrance, rounded the corner, ran the length of the building, and ended at the intersection of Third and Minna.

The popularity of the exhibit was something I hadn’t considered, and after doing some quick math in my head, I didn’t bother to park. October sat from 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. and each visitor was allowed up to five minutes with her. She was seeing, on average, twelve people an hour. That’s only eighty-four per day, and there were well over a hundred already in line. With only three performances left, I was going to have to get there a lot earlier the following day, or my chances of getting in would be nil.

Monday morning, I crossed the Golden Gate well before the sun started to crack thin interstices of flame-colored light into the sky over the East Bay. When I got to SFMoMA, I counted fifty-six people already in line. At number fifty-seven, I felt confident I would see October before the day ended.

The front-facing walls of the Roberts Family Gallery where Sorrow was being held are all glass, on the ground floor of the museum, and visible from the street. Huge shades, white but opaque, descended from the interior ceiling, preventing anyone from seeing the exhibit until it opened. Outside, the word “SORROW” was written across the shades in a font I recognized as October’s handwriting. Even that small hint of her presence packed a punch, and I braced myself for the day.

In line, I picked up on a sense of camaraderie among the people there, as if we were all connected to one another by the mere fact that we’d shown up and would, for hours, be taking small steps forward together. This was something else I hadn’t considered: the lengths to which October’s fans would go to see her.