Something rare

I hear finding an apartment in San Francisco is getting as cut throat and steep as it was during the dotcom boom. Hunting for a place in the city can be a very depressing experience, it messes with your perception of yourself as a grown ass person capable and worthy of a decent living space. People with their business suits, portfolio of landlord letters, paystubs and checkbooks out ready to pay for a whole year's rent. I never felt so close to punching people than in our days of looking for a place. The tears, the period of dwindling self confidence and fear of not having a real future.

Ok, enough, coming back to the sweet stuff. When your best friend lives blocks away and has a cozy, comfortable and real living space, you fall in love with her just a little bit more because you always feel at home not only with her wherever you go, but because she has a home. Whenever I left back to my apartment I felt like I was crouching into a tiny box. (the tiny box was cozy and very us, but it was just so small and full of problems)

So it only makes sense that on my recent trip back to San Francisco I wanted to spend as much time in this place as possible. We did what we usually did there before: cooked, ate a late night dinner, drank a beer on the porch, watched the sunset, and soaked in what we miss so much.
















This is the terrarium I made her from cuttings of plants that have lived in Los Angeles for a long time, came from my nana's collection. It's thriving strong from the kitchen counter even during foggy summers.