The first thing I did in San Francisco was see the city from Justin’s roof deck. It was three in the morning. We stood at the very edge, the winds of change tossing my hair I shut my eyes, and filled my lungs. It smelled like the sea. You could see the lights of the bridges, shimmering in the far away darkness. You see those lights over there? Just beyond there is the Pacific.
I woke up to angry wind gusts and rain pummeling the windowpanes. Meteorologists had predicted that the Pineapple Express would bring hurricane-force winds to the coasts of Washington, Oregon and California. Despite the rain, we had visited Justin’s favorite local coffee spot, Snowbird Coffee, and made our way to Lower Haight to eat. We both went for the bison sausage with chipotle powder and sage, served with a fresh chimichurri sauce. The best part was, we got to eat our sausages at the bar next door, Toronado, where they serve fifty beers on tap. Fifty beers– from local and faraway breweries!
We parted ways since Justin had to go to work, so I made my way home. After a quick nap, I Google searched how to get to the Independent. I was supposed to meet some guy there, who had originally told me about the show via OKC, but decided against it. After all, I knew I could make more friends if I weren’t hanging out with a guy.
When I got to the venue, my hair was soaked through my jacket. I handed the bouncer my ID and my ticket. He scans it and sends me on my way. I make my way down a dark tunnel and then the room opens up like a hidden cavern. The ambiance was painted in turquoise and magenta, the colors fluctuating and fading, as if clouds were passing through them. I marveled at a sight I hadn’t seen in a while: a bustling room full of 20-somethings and 30-somethings, holding liquor in their plastic cups, commingling and laughing, grooving lightly, standing around bored. How I’ve missed this! People! Lights! LIVE MUSIC!
It’s always funny to see the stares I get being alone at a venue. They all look at me like, Why is she walking around by herself? Doesn’t she have friends? Why can’t I feel comfortable at shows by myself? I just smile at them all.
After roaming the venue for quite some time to find the perfect spot, I notice two people sneak in front of me and light up a joint. I poke the smaller girl and say, “Nice job dude!” She smiles at me and says thanks. She passes it to me. Then asks my name. Claire. Farah and Christian, two people in a crowd, now the first two people to become my friends in San Francisco. We spent the night dancing to Ryan Hemsworth. And afterwords, there was pizza.
Heart At Bay 