It's amazing how much wearing
layers matter when you're living in the Schitty. It's a very vertical town, with its hills and its buildings, staircases and slopes. And microclimates. And seabourne winds and clouds.
The three-block walk to the bus stop can be Washington's freezing Valley Forge, but then when you get on the bus the commute metamorphoses into Marley's sweaty Trenchtown Rock. One is constantly zipping up or unzipping, wrapping scarves or unwrapping, buttoning and unbuttoning, wearing and then carrying their clothes and then putting their clothes back on again, in public places and crowded spaces.
A whole lotta the beautiful and ugly from all over, smushed up together and hung from a bau with a boe by the bay. That's SF in a nutshell. But autumn here is special. Like the leaves, the people all turn up on the street in many rich shades, and the sidewalks, parks and plazas never looked so pretty.
