An interlopers’ where-to pre-game besides near the pop-up ESPN studio at Fisherman’s Wharf. Where to admire the frisky and the young who have replaced generations for generations—gone in a short sleep. Where to see the people who refuse not to be seen as The City hugs its knees close to its chest and rocks itself to that final passage of obsolescence in an alleyway near Grant and Green.
If you are packing your bags right now to descend on the Bay Area for Sup Bro 50, chances are you’ve done this before. You’ve watched your soul escape in tiny bits from each dirty exhale on similar sojourns over meaty red fish flown in from more miles away than you will ever travel, from oceans deeper than you can fathom—in effort to consider for a moment the near-extinct jewel entering your maw as the rest of your…
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ajpridgen 