Years ago, what seems like a lifetime, I lived in San Francisco.
Adrian was in dental school and we lived near Twin Peaks at the top of a hill. The fog was so thick at night, you had to squint to see through it.
We lived there, in the student housing's 500 square foot apartment, for almost a year. I could barely fit in the bathroom. I used to have to squeeze past the door.
Then, we moved to an 800 plus square foot apartment in the Inner Sunset by Golden Gate Park, on 9th and Irving. We had a back yard and shared a washer and dryer with the second and third floors.
On Fridays, we would order in food and watch TV. On Saturdays, when Adrian didn't have to study or I didn't have to go into my corporate law job, we went to Sonoma, or Marin. We had lunch and drank wine. I used to love driving over the Golden Gate Bridge. When we would get home, I would hold my two black cats in my lap and listen to them purr.
Every Sunday morning, we used to walk to get the best scones (ever!) at the co-op bakery Arazmendi's. After, we would walk the lake at the park listening to Johnny Cash.
Some Sunday afternoons, I would go to church at a small little Catholic parish down the street.
When my dad died suddenly, I moved back home, but those days I will remember always.