PulpLit.net

Oh, thank God.

I'm in a big city again. Phew. A really big city. It's noisy at night, and brightly lit, and it has a thousand different neighborhoods and at least one CGL.*

They say that people who live in big cities around the world have more in common with each other than with people in the outlying areas in their own region. I don't know who They are, but I agree with Them, so let's just say that I say that.

Big cities create their own addictions. Either you try one out once for the experience, hate it, and move out to the suburbs for the rest of your life, or you come to depend on them. They live in your veins. You need public transportation like you need water, cafes like you need coffee.

I've only been in San Francisco for a few waking hours. Yesterday was all train (but very well worth it). So far, the city looks to me like someone stapled together Montreal, Toronto and Halifax, upping the cost of living by 70% at each seam.

My hostel is located in a club district, just around the corner from the City Lights bookstore and the big, pretty building occupied by the Coppola people. There are a lot of strip clubs around, just like home. There are also Jazz clubs, more jazz clubs, and a few more Jazz clubs. My roommate is a Torononian Montrealer like me, only in reverse. We're going to peruse the Mission together today. There appears to be an awful lot of good food lurking around every corner. I can tell I'm going to spend a lot of money here and get almost no sleep. I'm already starting to not care.

^{*Clicheed Giant Landmark}