She's been a bit of a curse since my arrival here, though; combine a manual transmission car with a city atmosphere and hills at 45 degree angles, and you have a recipe for disaster. (The rear-wheel drive is a bit of an issue, too, but only when parallel parking; try using a RWD car to back up when going up a hill, and it will scream.) Not that it matters, though; I've not been driving Her too much, anyway.
It has been seventy degrees, plus or minus a few, all this week.
San Francisco maintains this temperature, plus or minus, year round.
My love for this town is undying, this reason being just one of them.
I have a bed, and I have enough money to live quite comfortably for a while. I've submitted resumes to various institutions earlier this week, and I'm waiting to hear back from them. As a fallback, a newly acquired acquaintance can apparently hook me up with a job scalping tickets for the Giants.
Always working to live, never the other way around.
My expenses have been minimal, fortunately, limited to minimal food, my unfortunate coffee addiction (I've sampled, give or take, two dozen cafes in this city since my arrival, though I've since settled on two as my frequented favorites), and a coat that I was destined to buy. (Long story short, I was trying to leave the Haight-Ashbury district, which, by the way, makes South Street look like Sesame Place, but a truck was double parked in front of my car, so I entered this store while I was waiting. Turned out the store was having a closeout sale, and buried in a pile I picked out a vintage leather trenchcoat that's very Inspector Gadget meets The Yellow Submarine. To top it all, the saleswoman looked exactly how I'd imagine Jill's mother would look at age 35. I need not remind many people that Jill's mom already looks 35; this woman looked like she was 12.)
Anyway. Places to run to. I'm not presently settled, though I'm working on it, but words can't express the present happiness I feel.
Expect better entries later. But not now.