There's a little place about three doors down from my apartment called Lee's Sandwiches. Here it is:
They have awesome banh mi, but it's the croissants that are to die for. It's like eating the wings of an angel that have sprinkled by fairy dust and filled with the breath of a pixie.
OK, that sounded a little disturbing. Suffice it to say: Delicious croissants.
2. My neighborhood.
I live in San Francisco's most rundown, most crime-ridden, most socially decrepit area. It's called the Tenderloin.
And I love it.
Each day, I cross paths with any number of homeless residents, many of whom are talking nonsense to no one in particular. I encounter drug dealers and prostitutes. And yet nestled in this place I call home are great restaurants, cool little shops, and the joy of never knowing what I might see next. Sometimes, the strange sights are more gross than strange: some guy peeing in the street. Other times, they defy description: a guy wearing a mink coat, a fedora, and elaborate designer jeans.
All this, and only four blocks from City Hall. Behold, my neighborhood, the Tenderloin:
It isn't pretty, but we find comfort in each other out here.