My morning drive

My morning drive goes something like this: I race to my car, turn right on Divisidero, and the MUNI lurches up from the curb to cut me off. I switch on the radio. It’s the same song every morning: Dynamite Hack’s mellow folk cover of NWA’s “Boyz-N-The-Hood.” At the corner of Divisadero and Haight, I see the same homeless woman, holding a sign that says “Smile.” I cut straight through the Castro, then down into Noe Valley, where I amp myself with coffee and a fistful of Noe O’s. From there it’s 280 South. Soon enough, I pass the charmingly inept sculpture of Junipero Serra and that Flintstones-looking house with red-brown paint. In San Jose, “She Rock The Hips” beams into my car radio at the same time every morning. Eventually I lose the signal and switch to Greg Kihn in the Morning. An AC/DC cover band is playing “Highway To Hell” in the studio. They are trying much too hard. By the time the song is over, I have arrived.

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