Letters From The Bay, Week 56: Fogged In

Dear Fog Horn,

Please stop.

Please. Please. Stop.

It’s 1:54 a.m. and I cannot sleep because you are blaring away. I know it’s foggy. I know it’s a safety issue. I know those iPods have to come in from China on giant barges at all hours of the night so entitled Marina children can have them first thing in the morning. I don’t know how we can put a man on the moon, yet we’re still boating around to the tune of a gigantic horn, but whatever. Fine. I’ll go with it.

I would just like to point out, again, that I really have to sleep. How am I going to do entitled Marina girl yoga at my fancy gym in four hours if I don’t?

And right now I can’t.

So shut your pie hole, you noisy bitch.

Pretty please?

Thanks much!



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