Well, kids, I’ve finally learned to identify the smell of pot. You know how there are so many Starbucks that you can smell pockets of coffee aroma on every city block? Same thing with pot here, but it’s about two pockets per block. I suppose San Francisco is the perfect classroom for this, but to be honest, that’s the only stereotype expectation that’s been met. Frankly, my tourism hopes have not been met here; five days and nary a homosexual or hippie in sight.
It may have something to do with the MacWorld gang of hipsters, nerds, programmers clustered here in Union Square, but we have been making an effort to tramp through other neighborhoods and the closest we’ve come is a tomboyish girl with short hair and a few women with long hair and drapey scarves.
If I don’t see some flames tomorrow in Haight-Ashbury, I want my money back.
