In San Francisco, we live in the hip but ever-gritty Mission District, where there’s frustration aplenty. There are Michellin starred restaurants within walking distance of my house. But I dodge more human feces strolling my baby a few blocks to the park than I’ve seen in any emerging country I’ve visited. Weekends are littered with hookers on our corners, because San Francisco is one of the only cities in the Bay Area that won’t prosecute sex workers. We clean up used condoms from our sidewalk the next day, and dread having to explain to our child what they are.
Congrats. You beat the internet.