Greetings from sunny San Francisco. Five hour flight from Atlanta next to a woman who spent most of that time coughing and sneezing all over me. My throat's feeling kinda scratchy, but that might be psychosomatic. But it's still scratchy. And it's 7pm Pacific Time and I'm ready to crash.
Left my cell phone on the charger at home. Sigh. I'm not a mobile phone user in real life, unlike all the rest o' youse guys with yer phones up to yer ears and yer mouths yammerin' constantly. I talk to myself and only myself as I walk along, thank you - I'll make a great bag-lady someday!) But I do use the thing when I travel. Damn. Sure could use it out here in the wild, wild West. Guess I'll survive till Friday night. At least I've got the internet to keep me warm!
I left my cell-phone in Atlanta, Georgia . . . Nah. Not as snappy as leaving one's heart in San Francisco.
Went straight from the airport to the office, which is right across from the baseball stadium. Did manage to get this shot for the memory book. Maybe I'll have more luck tomorrow. Or not. I've seen tomorrow's agenda. I may have to slip out to the restroom and get - um - "lost." Lost like down toward Fisherman's Wharf and the Ghiradelli Chocolate place or something. That kind of lost. Hm.
A cuppa hot tea, a book (PT's recommended The Best Thing That Can Happen to a Croissant - more than halfway through, now), and early bed. Nighty-night my little cable-car-ridin' Alcatraz fugitives.