Today, I biked to the Presidio Tunnel Tops to see the SF Fleet Week air show. Over 4 miles of biking the hills of San Francisco, silently cursing American city design, my body, and the car owners driving past me, and I get there, out of breath, raggedy, and ready. I felt so pumped to see planes, and I looked up.

I saw fog, and only fog, for the next half-hour or so. I heard planes, as if to taunt me. Just like I heard fireworks on July 4th.

I've started to think I just can't see the patriotic planes and fireworks. I probably just got unlucky twice. However, I'd like to draw meaning from my sweat.