We made it to San Francisco. I know this because this morning, when we went out to get breakfast, we saw a man standing on his head on the sidewalk, singing for spare change. He was upside down when we got there, and he was still upside down when we left. Ridley gave him some spare change, because that has to be even harder than a book tour.
Everybody out here is complaining about how hot it is. Right now I would say it is maybe 80 degrees in San Francisco, but people are carrying on as though we're on the surface of the planet Mercury. As far as I'm concerned, this is nothing like what it was like in New York ("The Exploding Pigeon City").