Gramma
Back from a week of debauchery in colorful San Francisco. Drank much, ate much and laughed much. Hiked up and down the hilly streets and stairways until I yelled "Biatch Stop all-fuckin-ready," Biatch is a former cheerleader turned personal trainer. "Look, there's a nice tour bus," I pointed out hopefully. "The upper level is open. You can still get the fantastic views." The voice of sanity fell on deaf ears.
It was disturbing that I couldn't keep up. I had resurrected my elliptical trainer, exercise ball and hand weights nearly three months prior. Yet, the steep streets of San Francisco defeated me. Every ten feet I stopped to catch my breath and rally for the next uphill battle. I felt old.
Moonshine and I waited at the bottom of Ziggy Zaggy Street as Biatch bounced up and down the stairway of many pains to get a "better view" of the city. I prefer a better view of beer. A source of alcohol was found six blocks downhill.
After the brewhaus, we stumbled into our first Uber experience, The driver was happy to share the details of his job. Raul was a college student driving a shiny new car Uber had financed. He could choose his own hours. We were on a tight budget and happy to be instructed as to how we could get our first ride free.
Upon return to a home base we had found on Craig's List, more spirits were had. It wasn't long before I excused myself for bed. Within minutes, loud snoring was coming from my room.
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