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So here I am, looking for a place to get my nails done. I walk the cold and frosty February in Georgia and cold nature, which means that it really is not all cold, just cold and there's fog - lots of fog.

Yelp and sent me on a journey through the holy city of Mecca for all nail salons and it is actually open on Sunday, no less. I've gotten off the bus, not sure where I am, but I suddenly feel very "on the bus," in a very Tom Wolfe of the sentence, because everything has suddenly become very 1969. I realize I'm in the Haight.Like taking a blow to the powerful, I am immediately brought up with images of all films and memory remotely connected to this place.

I walk into Brother Junkman's Daughter in downtown Athens, Georgia, circa 1998. Cut to: The House peril, dreadlocks and debauchery at the university early. Where we are in 2006 in St. Louis, across the Sunshine Daydream or Rag-o - Rama for all the experience UCity Loop. Or I am in the north of Camden in London a year ago, looking for a shower Caddy, because that's where you'll find practical things.So it's 1972 I'm a band-aid, wandering around with a 15 year old friend who writes for. Wait, not sure that it really happened.

"RED AND BLACK AND RED AND BLACK AND ..."

Brought back to San Francisco by a homeless high covering Dave Matthews. However, my iPhone is the service not to obtain, which leads me to the conclusion that, clearly, I must somehow time traveled. I look around. It is therefore Haight-Ashbury. The smell of incense, pot, Indian food and unwashed hair. Chalkboard signs for PBR cheap. Graffiti. Psychedelic Wall.

"Red and Black ants are dashed! GO marching two by two! And threes! "

I wonder if there is enough plutonium in the DeLorean to get back to Pacific Heights. Vintage clothing. Showcases, mannequins costumed Mardi Gras. Begging. Backpackers. I feel the need to shower. Or two. Tapestry handmade pearl necklaces. tight jeans. Those who travel in groups. No sign of the show....

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