I find I am very relaxed after spending ninety minutes drinking coffee and reading a book in the Laundromat. And pretending to read while people-watching. It's never dull on Haight. That was the only excursion--aside from beer runs to the corner store--I had all weekend. We keep getting these unpleasantly warm days with nothing but stillness in the air. But tonight, SF is the way SF should be in the summertime: 55 degrees with a hearty breeze, fog blowing in with the scent of the Pacific. Drinking through the hours and listening to the Hank Mobley records that came Friday. Still, the fantasies of picking up and moving to Anchorage persist.