I left my U+2665…
It’s approximately 26 hours since I touched down for my first ever trip to San Francisco. I leave in another 12.
How can it be that in this brief, brief time—just barely enough to wander around the Fisherman’s Wharf area, attend a meeting in a funky loftspace office, be driven up and down steep, steep hills, enjoy a couple of delicious expensed dinners and take a stroll down towards the Golden Gate—I’ve decided that I definitely want to live here some time before I die? (Or after. I’m not picky.)
It’s hit a chord with me in almost precisely the same way that Boston and Washington DC did, and New York and Chicago most certainly did not. The long-term goal is to some day escape to Alaska and telecommute, but SanFran is now edging out Seattle as the city I want us to move to in the next five-to-ten years.
If only they had an American League baseball team so we could still see the Sox play!
