Why does every bright day with wind arrive like San Francisco in '68? The fog pouring in like horses over the Golden Gate and the cough of seals down at Fisherman's Wharf. City Lights opens its narrow stair and Ferlinghetti is there at the top to turn and welcome you with his slow smile. And the feeling of reaching toward the bread of something substantial, the bread not yet broken, the sacrifice not yet made, the world still a kingdom to be discovered.