Fun tale of what I did yesterday, maybe entertaining to some. Just a note, I wouldn't normally name locations in any detail, but being such a high profile area and nothing actually being discovered, I think it's ok.
A friend and I were driving from home to SLO yesterday and decided to keep on going. Day off, why not, so we decided to go look for LSD in San Francisco. 4 hours north, and not at all scenic the whole way up the 101, so we had to get a good hot box going in the car. We got into the city at about five thirty, caught in up traffic for a while. Being that neither of us have ever done more than drive straight through the city on the freeway, we took a while to find a place that looked like the right spot to go on our own baseless 60's idea of San Fran. Golden Gate Park, wandering around for about, oh, thirty seconds before we're hit up buy dealers. They just have weed, and we have plenty of that already. We met a guy named Speak who said we should have come up on a weekend instead of a Thursday, and that there isn't anything around until possibly tomorrow. At this point I make a mental note to remember that most of the world still lives on some form of the nine to five, five of seven schedule and that thursdays aren't party nights. Wandering around the park for a while we get offered pot four more times, but continue to fail to find what we're looking for. A stroll down the local famous intersection and surrounding area leaving no stoner unturned relinquishes no Lucy, but some decent pizza, as I report in passing to a curious Speak who appears in our path again. Finally exhausted of options and running out of energy, we make for our parked car. Passing Speak again at another location on the way back, I'm beginning to believe he may be exactly the opposite of Waldo. He gets us the phone number of a very drunk friend of his, to hit up in advance next time we undertake the journey north. A pretty girl pops in to our on the spot circle with her dog to say hi. Everyone we've crossed paths with so far has been strange, but friendly. I feel very at home among the disorganized chaos of colors and feelings. My asshole friend only pretends to take the number down as I find out minutes later. From there it was off to home. A sour Diesel aided sojourn through the darkness with Wu-tang keeping a quite beat to match the sleeping sounds of my neighbor. Some might consider it a failed mission of six hundred miles, but I say any day in which a weekly trip to the comic book store ends in smoking a bowl on the Golden Gate Bridge is an adventure worth the gas money. A new city with even more impossible to navigate road ways, crazier drivers, and more cultures laying on top of one another than even the most diverse swingers party. Sometimes what you say you're setting out for is only an excuse. A reason to break through the ordinary and discover a new place, an exciting culture, and some friendly people. We may not have found our lady Lucy, and we didn't vacation at a far away tropical locale, but to take the dirty, grimy, spray painted singing hustle of California for anything less than the trip we set out looking for, would be to miss the point of living. Next time, maybe we'll use mapquest, or at least come on a Saturday. Or maybe we'll be on the way to the store with no plans for the afternoon.
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