Everyone awoke feeling worse for wear on account of the previous night's debauchery reaching it's peak somewhere around 3AM. The plan for the day was driving to San Francisco but with Lewis' car in absentia it was going to have to be public transport. There really isn't a huge amount to say amount my time in San Francisco. We did a lot of walking, mostly in the Castro, Height St. (sp?) and then across the Golden Gate Bridge. The latter was something that I was probably the most excited to do. Ever since seeing the movie 'The Bridge' I've viewed it as almost a living thing, something weirdly attractive and almost conscious, attracting people to itself and sending them into the bay to die. I suppose I'm kind of morbid, shucks. Getting off the bus I could see the attraction of the place, the bridge itself is magnificent; huge, imposing and bright red. Lewis and I walked across and back, all the while taking shots of Jagermeister, it was great. Every so often there were signs telling potential jumpers that jumping from the bridge has 'tragic consequences', more love of the obvious left over from the previous day.
That evening back in Piedmont was spent in a similar, if toned down fashion of the previous night. Lewis and I were both exhausted from a day of walking and the heat had sucked our energy out.
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