By Dona Bridges
From Quentin Tarantino’s Death Proof, the last great car movie
June is here at last, and the door to summer is swinging on its green hinges—we may even get one of those fabled, rare warm nights tonight. Last night I saw some girls optimistically wearing shorts and flip-flops after the sun went down and the temperature plunged, but I figured they were from England, like the guy who mythologized those almost non-existent “Warm San Franciscan Nights.” Or maybe they’re hot blooded, check it and see. Who knows?
Usually, I’m happy to stay in my fair city during the month of June even if I can sometimes still see my breath at night. We have summer sunshine all day long; we have gorgeous parks in which to sip (or chug) rose and High Life; and we have Pride, which I’m sure is going to be even more off the hook than usual due to righteous gay marriage hoopla.
This June, however, I’m going to make like a tree and get out of here.