I’m in San Francisco this week for work. Staying at a very conventional Marriott downtown by Moscone. It’s not my usual digs, but it was a sudden trip, and I’ve been burned by last-minute AirBNB reservations. Sometimes you want to know there will be a guy at the desk in a well lit room to hand you your keys, and a clean bed to fall into. Cool brings risk.

There’s a small feeling of confusion/fear when sleeping in a new spot. I feel this the first night in a hotel or a new apartment. A weird foreignness—like you’ve fallen asleep on your arm, except it’s your whole brain?

Anyway, a whole lot of that this morning, amplified by having dreams which took place in summertime New York. Then, I wake up in San Francisco, in a hotel room which isn’t very me, to look out the window and see Karl the Fog and a high of 62º in July.

What is this place? Where am I?