#272, San Francisco
It was so cold that July afternoon in San Francisco, the numbers put themselves in italics. I found this one on a quiet street in the Mission district in between sound check at the Elbo Room on Valencia and a dinner that consisted of burritos the size of my head. Ever since I first heard American Music Club's album San Francisco, the city -- with its odd combination of cold and California -- has always had a certain degree of romance. An afternoon stroll through San Francisco's chilly, brightly colored streets and improbable doll house houses was just what I needed in the middle of a tour that mostly made up of Arizona desert, crowded vehicles, and hot stage lights. The slopes, the streets, the flower boxes, and the fog: I could get used to this, I thought to myself. Even if it is on that other coast.