San Franciscans are ridiculously weather wussy. If it's below 65 or above 80, we whine. Yes, that's right - there is a 15 degree sweet spot where the weather is just accepted. The weather today was above 90, which had me sniveling to my mother on the phone, "It's hooooooooot!" (And the irony of bitching about 90 degree heat to someone in DC's humidity is not lost on me.)
Tonight, I decided to wander down to the local ice cream shop about an hour before closing time. The air on the street was already 5 degrees cooler than my apartment. As I crossed the street, a neighbor's cat approached me for the standard feline greeting, winding between my ankles and rubbing her cheeks against my feet. Turning the corner, I could hear a party in an upstairs apartment, the music and laughter wafting down to me.
Unfortunately, when I reached the ice cream shop ... I discovered that every other resident of San Francisco had the same idea. I settled for Haagen Daz peach sorbet from the grocery store and headed home again. The party had settled down somewhat, but I heard a snippet from the movie another neighbor was watching. (I've been trying to place it ever since.) On my street, I saw a couple embrace, silhouetted by a lamp.
A neighborhood with all its windows and curtains thrown open, sacrificing privacy for the chance of a breeze. Madly, I felt so connected to everyone and everything.