I miss the lizards from Florida. No lizards here, at least not until you head further south of the city where it’s warmer. In the Florida summertime, a stroll down the sidewalk becomes a frantic effort not to step on any of the dozens of tiny reptiles running across your path. The dried leaves in the backyard are full of the sound of lizard fights. Oh well, at least I feel more like a lizard in San Francisco, constantly seeking out the sun to raise my core temperature. I do not miss anything else about the Florida summer. That humidity is disgusting.
The other night, we went downtown to a club, and the bus rides to and fro were filled with loud drunken French people, how mystifying. On the ride home, some local lame-o decides to act as cultural ambassador for the city, emphatically insisting that the French students check out Haight Street (“you guys gotta check out Haight… it’s the REAL San Francisco!”).
Now, I will admit that Haight Street is very lively and definitely a part of real San Francisco, but it can get damn sketchy at times (it’s also way commercial). The closer you get to Golden Gate Park on Haight, the more you are inundated with people pushing drugs. Just the other day, some young white kid offered me some “high endorphin hydro,” holding out a pile of loose green in his hand towards me. Come on! Kid, don’t you know how easy it would be for someone to beat the shit outta you and steal your green? Be careful and sensible, people.