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On Tuesday morning, March 26th, Rofiah drove me to the Modesto bus station. (Rofiah is featured in my last update, which was so long ago that you've probably forgotten. You should re-read it.) There was no luggage check at the tiny station, so I had to carry my two bags onto the bus with me. Next stop, San Francisco. The fare was $15.75. The bus ride was three uneventful hours, with many stops in Podunk along the way. A half-hour before our intended arrival time, we pulled into a sprawling metropolis teeming with buildings reaching into the sky. Since it seemed unlikely that we were thirty minutes early to San Francisco, I had to wonder where the hell we were. I wanted to ask a passenger, but the ones near me were all sleeping. I was almost curious enough to ask the driver, but I reckoned he'd announce us soon enough. And he did: we were in Oakland. It was easily the size of Nashville. I had no idea. I didn't have very long to think about it before we were pulling out and headed for the water. We approached a massive suspension bridge, leaving me to wonder if we were crossing the Golden Gate. In fact I would later learn that I was on the Bay Bridge, which leads into a different part of San Francisco. There's no significant difference in beauty or relevance between the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay Bridge; the Golden Gate is more famous, but who cares? Nonetheless, when I finally reached the Golden Gate Bridge I would make a complete ass of myself in glee. -We reached San Francisco, and
I walked outside, to the street |
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