The other day I got the hell out of my neighborhood.
It was terrific, a bright, hot, gassy October day and I biked over the hills of the rich, down into the tree-shaded house grottoes of the rich called St. Francis Wood, down into a strange enclave of Asian diners and bagel shops and other non-descript boutiques, all the way to the glittering ocean and back through the park that was mobbed with cars for the bluegrass festival.
I went to my favorite "Secret" cafe -- discovery thanks to Seth -- and wrote like an over-caffeinated graphomaniac for several hours. It's important to find remote places in this town, or else you'll implode.
Also: went to my favorite ridiculously long, austere and dreamy Masonic-style temple -- also thanks to Seth's discovery.
Capped it off with Happy Hour at a new, wonderfully neon-sign-wearing bar, Ritespot. Which has an excellent Happy Hour.
Neon signs are always suitable for on the fly photographs.
That night told very sad stories about death in college and blamed it on the harvest moon.
No comments:
Post a Comment