We spent Saturday afternoon walking to the ocean and back. We meandered down to the panhandle, which lead us into Golden Gate Park. Like a slow motion movie montage, we turned to each other as we were entering one of the main gates, realizing at the same time that it was April 20th.

Keeping our curious dogs in tow, we picked our way past crowds of blitzed teenagers, folks carrying whole pizzas, and a grandma dressed in head to toe cannabis gear. We strolled past museums, the conservatory, frolf course, golf course and the buffalo pasture, finally exiting at the windmill. We stopped to listen to the waves crashing in the background, and enjoyed the few minutes of peace and space that being far away from Hippy Hill provided.

We were wiped and wired after five hours in the sun, and headed back home only to be greeted by pure insanity. It was like bar closing time during senior spring break in Cancun, Mexico all over again. But instead of hammered girls throwing up in the street and crying, it was a hot mess of zombies playing pinball with their bodies, trying to find their ways home through the haze.

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