So, on December 30, I flew from LAX to SFO (thanks to Hotwire, which didn't have any Burbank/Oakland flights available due to short notice). I landed around four-ish

I got lucky and found a bus going downtown. It dropped me off at Mission. The driver was extremely helpful.

Not knowing where the hell anything was, I got lucky again and caught a bus to Kearny. It dropped me off at Kearny and Clay, less than a block from my hotel. The driver was extrmely helpful. He also didn't make me pay.

I checked in. They weren't able to use my (only) credit card, but they didn't seem to be willing to make an issue out of it. I resolved not to use any incidentals that might actually cost me. Again, everything had been handled through Hotwire, so it was all good. I trundled up to the hotel and unloaded my stuff; a small luggage bag and my trusty backpack. I looked at the phone and decided it was probably cheaper to deal with roaming charges on my cell phone than dial anyone except the hotel switchboard with the room phone.

My cell had messages. Talula left a number for me to contact li'l G. Nobody left a message about clubbing or something. I didn't get around to returning either due to exhaustion, but Talula called and I dialed the kid in short order.

Got directions. Went. Met. Hung. Ate. Went out. Hung. Went back. Hung. Left.

Missed the train.

The sky opened up and rained as if it had remembered every bad thing I'd ever said about SF.

I couldn't catch a bus.

I couldn't find a Yellow Pages that was either useable and in English.

I tried hailing a cab, having forgotten that was possible in this town.

Success!

$11.30 later, I'm at the hotel, soaking wet. Cell messages. Waiting.

Trudged through Call of Cthulhu. H.P. Lovecraft isn't the badass everyone thinks he is. Good builder, overstuffed writer. Another illusion shattered.

Ah, arrival.

Finally, I can retire.

Bliss.