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Client Name Four



As an SF resident, I often find myself walking around or looking out of my window in awe of this city's architecture. Most of the buildings that catch my eye are unassuming from street level, until you look up and notice an eccentric, bright orange frame around a door, or an ornate sconce tucked away two floors up.

This city forces me to adopt a certain cadence. I amble around in a sort of stop-start manner, not to pause to appreciate my surroundings every couple of blocks, but in order to catch my breath. The hills of San Francisco leave me steeling myself in preparation for another ascent, or panting for breath at the top until I make my way down again, praying that my knees carry me all the way. I can’t simply dash out to accomplish an errand quickly and effortlessly. If I want to drop off my drycleaning or pick up an extra carton of milk (almond), I must invest my body and mind in an arduous, yet rewarding, climb and descent.

Part of living in San Francisco is reconciling the dissonance between strolling to a nearby park and gazing lovingly at the blue bay, with the destitution that pervades neighborhoods located just south of that view. Moments of awe of this city are suspended when I walk among the debris scattered on the streets: pebbles of glass from car break-ins, discarded t-shirts, crushed bags of chips. I pass unhoused San Franciscans huddled together at the bottom of the steep hills, or weave my way through the smoke dispersed from the latest wildfire.

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