A long exposure from Twin Peaks this past weekend. The luminous tungsten artery of Market Street and just about every other surface of San Francisco was crawling with activity. I grew up in the Midwest, where it feels as though Chicago’s skyscrapers can be seen towering above cornfields as far east as Nebraska—so the experience of seeing the bulk of San Francisco and Oakland spread before my feet and twinkling in the evening cool was very unusual. Watch lights twinkled from windows and rooftops along the fingers of tungsten tributaries webbed across the floodplain of civilization. From above, the city feels remote, inaccessible.

I was reminded of Bullet in the Blue Sky by U2,

Through the alleys of a quiet city street
You take the staircase to the first floor
Turn the key and slowly unlock the door
As a man breathes into a saxophone
And through the walls you hear the city groan
Outside is America
Outside is America

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