End of the line

When I head down from my campsite in the Berkeley hills in the morning, I often get a panoramic view of the San Francisco Bay, and the San Francisco skyline, and the Golden Gate Bridge, and the Pacific Ocean beyond it. And I often get this funny feeling. Like I’ve reached the end of the world, the end of Western Civilization, the end of the line. Remember traveling 3,000 miles across the country from New Jersey to San Francisco. And ending up here mostly because I couldn’t go any farther.



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