The end of the work week usually finds me drained. And I am glad to be off. San Francisco is a more enjoyable place than Marin, and to be honest I do not like Marin or many of its denizens. But I do like the turkey vultures circling over the tidal mud flats looking for suburbanites who died jogging out there, keen to pick their corpses bare before the salt and wind dessicates them beyond edibility.
If I had a ton of money Marin is the last place I'd choose to live.
A friend reminded me of roast duck this afternoon. I was surprised, I had not imagined him as a duck lover. And where I live in San Francisco, Cantonese Roast Duck is easy enough to find, Stockton Street is virtually walking distance. There are a number of places there, and I know the differences between them preparation-wise.
In the suburbs, however, decent provisioners are spread far apart, and while I imagine that Cantonese Roast Duck can indeed be found, I do not know where. It might be just one place.
Whether they have an appreciative customer base is a question.
One cannot imagine many Marinites being gourmands.
Most Marinites are sour disapproving prunes.
No wonder pot-use and high-priced alcoholism are rampant there.
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