I received specific instructions from the Range Master to be early. Not on time, but early. He knew me too well.
I left for the range at the crack of sparrows. I was running late, no breakfast, wet hair. I pulled out of the driveway and drove against the traffic whilst listening to the dulcet tones of Ira Glass.
I have never held a gun.
I have never learned how they work.
Up until now, I haven’t wanted to know.
Little has changed in the Bay Area since I’d been gone — aside from rents that have increased exponentially, something everyone complains about on a daily basis here. And really, the rents are ridiculous. Getting settled always takes longer than anticipated. But I knew what to expect. I’ve taken plenty of walks, shot plenty of time lapse down by the bay. Started my new job. Mapped out the new projects for 2015. Taken a roadtrip up the coast. Reconnected with old friends. Started to catch up on the overdue obligations. It’s a interesting time. It’s still home. One of my homes. And it’s nice to be back.
I was wandering around the Inner Sunset last June, when I stumbled upon this artwork. It was prominently displayed in the window of a small business just off Judah and framed by heavy, deep blue curtains. And the visual has stayed with me since.
This was a cute little place I stumbled across on a walk around SF a few weeks ago. It’s tucked up a little alleyway on Nob Hill, and looked so inviting with the red door, grey paint, white trim and red geraniums outside.
In a Chicago summer, there’s a real sense of abandoning the rigid rules of daily life. Such rules no longer apply. It’s heady, fragrant, intoxicating.