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On days like this there are always boats on the bay. The sails gleam in direct proportion to the number of sick days in San Francisco offices. Ah, its that Meglomaniac song I like lifting the corner of my mouth in a slight smirk at the irony of an angry song on such a placid non-angry day.
This day, this weather is what we wait all year for. The constant drip of the whiny San Francisco rain in winter, the passive aggressive summer, covering the sun with a cloud just as you have removed your sweater. The invisible autumn, where leaves just drop without changing color. All of that is penance for this day and this weather. This shrimp washed down with a dry Japanese beer watching the glass-like bay covered with white triangles.
Couples of all kinds are out, shopping, walking, slowing to see that glorious water. On these days the tourists don't look as stupid in shorts and the people are a little more helpful when giving directions.
Soon the sun will set, golden behind The Bridge and the visitors at Coit Tower will gasp. The lights on the hills will blink on and when the sun is set and the bay is black, boats returned to their moorings, the city will catch its second wind. The people will spill out of the bars and restaraunts with laughter abounding. People will fall in love tonight, its the weather.
I like it here.
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