The veins of San Francisco stretch out across the city in every direction, pulsating life at all hours of the day and night. The N line rumbles the windows on Judah Street while the dirty 30 skulks through Chinatown. No matter where you are, MUNI echos its familiar song on every street and avenue. Twenty minutes, twice a day, the commute provides an escape form the routine it encompasses. Flash your bus pass, grab onto a handrail, and slip silently into the daydreams you slowly nurse to life each day.
These rails and routes connect us all. When your stop is called, snap back to the reality that this is a city of one million strangers bonded by a common goal, dreaming big. No concept, however seemingly impossible in scope or magnitude is immediately discarded. An idea as big as the Pan American Highway would quickly be dismissed among rational folk. San Francisco is an incubator, nurturing the value in every crazy notion. Perhaps it is because we are so physically confined that we feel an undeniable urge to expand, to grow personally.
We often found the inspiration for personal expansion in the unforgettably eclectic mix of San Francisco neighborhoods and venues. We will not soon forget the many 49’er rolls consumed at Nara Sushi on Polk, the “special shots” at Bow Bow’s in Chinatown, the romantic nights at Nob Hill Cafe, the legion of options we marveled over at Whiskey Thieves, the clinking of celebratory glasses at a number of fine establishments, followed by a lazy Sunday stroll to Art’s Cafe for their famous hash brown sandwich. But most of all, we will miss the heartfelt discussions shared in the one bedroom apartments of our friends throughout the city.
At it’s heart, San Francisco is exactly what you decide to make of it. A blank canvas of possibility, a pleasurable alienation. You can remain a stranger in a strange land as long as you like and no matter how established you are as a person, anonymity is always just a train ride away.