I moved to San Francisco 20 years ago. I was 17, had $200 in my pocket, and just wanted to get the fuck out of Arkansas. I thought I had a job and place to stay neither of which existed by the time I landed. I was given the information for the cheapest hostel in the city, $13 dollars a night. It was on Folsom St. above/next to the Cat Club. I can’t remember now if Wednesday or Thursday was 80’s night but I did manage to always fall asleep to 99 Luftballons 🎈no matter what time I went to bed. Folsom Street Fair was to be right outside my door on my 3rd full day in the city. I had no idea the wild ride I was in for. So many beautiful ridiculous amazing memories of my early days in SF. Jumping into the deep end of life without looking back.

It was wonderful to text a friend last night to say, hey we meet 20 years ago and spent an evening walking all over the city while you told me it wasn’t a very far long walk.

I really hoped to spend my birthday in October back in the City by the Bay. I miss friends and somehow the place itself. I may have been raised in Arkansas but I grew up in San Francisco.