I took my wife on a semi-surprise getaway to San Francisco last weekend. A friend of mine had given me two free nights at the InterContinental, which made for a pretty posh base to enjoy a cool city, some fantastic food, and each other. (Curiously, and encouragingly, as our taxis passed through a few neighborhoods that had XXX shops, strip clubs and "massage" parlors, I was wholly uncurious as to what secrets lurked behind their flashing neon façades.)
I'm posting here two leggy pics from the weekend: First, the wacko-defined calves of a street entertainer we passed near the endstation of the cable car as we headed from Market Street up toward Union Square (this guy was a tapping freak -- amazing); Second, the lovely doorknob at the Wolford boutique, where I couldn't convince my wife to buy anything or even pick up a free season catalog for, uh, me to enjoy on the flight home, darnit.
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