Left on Funston and to the park. Cool and breezy, my run left me with just a smear of sweat. After the time was up I walked to regain my breath and saw the prettiest pastel sunset, a western San Francisco tableau come and gone.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?," a woman asked without waiting for an answer. She rode a bike with a basket filled with flowers, and she didn't seem real. "It is!," I called after her, but I am certain she did not hear me.
And then it was over, through, off to prepare to do it again another day.