Like, old people are in risk, hot. Like, this town doesn’t know what to do with itself, hot. Like world upside-down, hot. I keep having flashbacks to life in San Jose then shake myself, no, this is the foggy town, the town that requires a sweater each time you go out at night, regardless. The town that freezes the nipples off of tourists, and sends them pleading for over-priced fleeces with tacky logos emblazoned on the front. The town where we constantly grouse about how freezing the wind is, how “the coldest winter was a summer in San Francisco” (fyi: not Mark Twain).

I’ve got the windows closed, the lights out, hibernating. Last night on Embarcadero, near the Ferry Building, there were at least 3-fold the amount of people I usually see, and I felt welcome cool winds off of the bay once in a while. It almost felt like any other city that has waterways- Seattle, or Miami- in summer it’s hot and you walk along the boardwalk. You can wear t-shirts and tank tops, and eat outside without your stuff blowing away.

Last night on our roof in North Beach, we saw – for some unknown reason- fireworks at pier 39. The sky was violet; it was amazing.