The metal beast grumbles to life with the wipers going nuts. With a huff and a puff of a retired tortoise's pace, it inches along.
What a path it weaves. With the big rainbow flag fast disappearing in our horizon behind in the Castro, onwards we go.
"To the wharf this goes," utters the bold driver.
Now we cross the tenderloin. Not a barf in sight on this rainy day. But dare you not be fooled by the sights of this sunnier day above. It's a rare sight in the Bay these days...
High above the clouds and beyond the gray - you could still hear this beast's bray.
Long as you might have a journey ahead, this is the stop I'll have to head.