The rain drops hit the windshield like lead, the pedestrian scatter, Uber surge breaks 4x—this is the real deal, not the dress rehearsal drizzle. I turn on the wipers, the headlights, and Morrisey: the weepy season is in. Spring is a long way off comrades, bring in the lawn chairs. This whole town is about to go ice-house doctor Zhivago style. We need to stay strong, the forcast for Wednesday is 55F.
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also san franciscoA ridesharing driver, artist and a commentator operating out of San Francisco. A r c h i v e s
September 2016
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