I don't think I even need to tell you whether this photo took place in Paris or San Francisco, because it's very, obviously, 100% SF. And if you’re familiar with the city vibes, you can probably guess which neighborhood: Haight-Ashbury.
When Max and I moved back to San Francisco last fall, our beloved city’s average rent prices had increased by about a million percent. We got our old apartment back, but at nearly double what we’d been paying before. It was madness. So Max poked on Excel for a while and determined that buying would be financially advantageous to our renting sitch. We aggressively house-hunted for months, and finally landed a cute little condo in the Upper Haight. Now we’re poor forever, but so be it, we’re home-owners.
Our new hood has a colorful history, and some insanely vibrant characters. It’s beyond magnificent having bars and restos right out the door, and Golden Gate Park/The Panhandle just blocks away. Loving it. One such character, was today’s beard of rouge whom I found sauntering down Haight Street. It was a bright, lovely day and I was en route to an early dinner with an old friend from college and his bf. This particular gentleman was with a crew, and they were passing around a joint as they made their way down the block.
As you can see his crimson beard is fluffy and exceptional, so of course I stopped him for a photo. Since he’s technically bald, one might question whether he also has red hair. It’s possible, but I suspect not. That head stubble looks brown to me. Regardless, I asked to take a picture, he graciously accepted, and almost seemed honored by my request. Then he continued on his way.