It’s a Sunday afternoon, and we’re shopping on Haight Street in San Francisco.
We love all it’s vintage clothing stores, the “legs in the window”, the head shops with tie-dye clothes, Grateful Dead t-shirts and tapestries. Janis Joplin and Bob Marley are blasting through the speakers.
As we walk down the street, marijuana smoke mixed with patchouli incense comes wafting out of the doorways, intoxicating us.
We walk past a woman standing in a doorway. She’s wearing a suede headband and a fringe vest, singing “The Hurdy-Gurdy Man” and playing an actual hurdy-gurdy.
It’s a different world here, until you pass a Starbucks or a frozen yogurt shop.