It is possible, it turns out, to live in a place for a decade – to live in it long enough to feel that it’s time to move on – and still be madly in love with it. San Francisco and I are like high school sweethearts in the last weeks before college, ready to break up but still reveling in our time together. We’re rolling around on the beach, in the salt spray, in golden light. We’re holding hands and skipping down the street, laughing at our good fortune in having found each other. We’re gazing at the same moon, breathing in the same fog-dampened night air, sighing longingly into the same dark night.
With that extended metaphor in mind, know that Mike and I have been walking all over this damn city, discovering art installations, grabbing meals at new-to-us restaurants, stumbling upon breweries down industrial alleys (more on that in a future post), and getting to know all the jewel-like parks that dot these 49 square miles.
