During the decade or so that I lived in San Francisco, the highlight of the year was Burning Man — not attending it, but enjoying the peace and quiet that descended when everyone left for the desert. I looked forward all year to that week; the city took on a serene half-emptiness, which after the tumult of everyone preparing their art cars and campsites and faux fur costumes, was a dream come true.
Afterwards, of course, everyone would come back and you’d have to hear about how spiritually fulfilling it was to spend a week at summer camp, participating in a utopian experiment. But it was worth it for
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