Friday, we moved out.
I've lived in San Francisco for my entire adult life, and Adam moved there about five years ago. So moving out was emotional. For me, at least. We loved our lives in San Francisco-- we had good work there, we had good friends there, we had a good gym there. Our little routine was a comfortable one, and full of really good food.
We fell in love in San Francisco, too. Which is nice.
And our apartment was only kind of haunted. Warning to the next tenant: there's a ghost tour that starts right in front of that building.
As we were packing up the car with all of our equipment, I was feeling particularly sentimental, fighting back the burn of embarrassing tears. But then, as if the city was reminding me to GTFO, a guy across the street starting yelling: "GO FUCK YOURSELF, BURN IN HELL FOREVER COCKSUCKER, GO DIE IN A FIRE" at no one in particular as he walked up Masonic.
It was as accurate a Haight Street moment as I could possibly have imagined.
So. Goodbye Haight Street. Goodbye haunted Apartment. Goodbye Gus's Grocery Store, and The Booksmith, and the Alembic (our favorite Haight Street businesses).
Goodbye San Francisco. It's been pretty swell.