We ran into some crazy stuff today both in and outside of San Francisco. First, a bomb scare blocked us from getting back from the beach to the Mission. Then we waited for nearly a half hour to eat some good Indian food at Dosa, which was ultimately worth the wait because the food there kicks ass.
Then, while having coffee at Ritual, a bit of local street color poked his head in to tell us he didn't want our money, he wanted our identity. And then, walking back to 16th Street BART, we came across a circle of lit candles in paper bags, and within them, poets, musicians, and other stripes of artist. Turns out this has been going on every Thursday night for three years. Who knew? It really felt like what San Francisco should be -- a foggy night in an urban setting, all these crazy types coming together to perform. And most of the performances were far better than your typical open mic. Lots of polyamory happening too, which made for fun watching and an interesting conversation on the BART ride home.
Then we had just reached our place when we ran into the cigarette-seeking, Razor-scooter riding women. They'd already hit a cop up for some smokes and decided to try their luck with us. Sorry, ladies. Not tonight.
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