My city

If I meet you, I will look for the soonest opportunity to tell (or yell, as the case may be) at you that I am from San Francisco and that I love this city.  First, let’s look beyond the fact that I’ve never actually held a San Francisco address.  Okay!  My childhood was spent at its many museums and parks, in my teen years I was the youngest patron at its music venues, and now I’m trying to get to know better its neighborhoods beyond the BART line.  My dad, a Russian Hill resident in the eighties, was overjoyed to show me around his old haunts.  Stops included Ocean Beach (via Sutro Heights), Russian Hill (where I insisted on a snack at La Boulange) and West Portal.

The best forty-nine square miles I know.  And I haven’t even discovered all of it yet!

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