Black pants, denim jackets.
New flare, fig, breakfast, Honda.
The future is bright.
Summer in the sunset.
The only thing I can say is that I’m loving it out here. Maybe San Francisco isn’t lost, maybe it is still a classic beauty in ever sense, maybe it is still mine. It’s been so foggy in my new hood, but I love it. It’s calm out here, quite and peaceful, and I love it. New eyes and a new beginning, and I needed it.
Every morning: toast.
too real man too real
Te last standing black-owned storefront in The Fillmore District shut it’s doors a couple months ago, and I don’t think the neighborhood is happy about it. The Fillmore is a legendary Jazz district, whose commercial vibrancy and cultural rivaled that of early Market street.