The day; July 4th, 2014. The scene; thirty sweaty NPSF-ers donned in red white and blue, taking swigs of Korbel at 7:30am in the living room of Chris Stivers’ apartment. The reason? Why the fuck not? Also, we just ran some bad ass hills in Potrero. Potrero Hill, for those of you not familiar, is a seldom visited area of San Francisco for NPSF because of it’s perceived distance away from civilization. Here’s a common San Francisco conversation:
“Hey, what are you up to today?”
“Not much, you?”
“Not much, want to come to Potrero Hill?”
But actually, it’s really not that far away at all. Plus, it’s literally always sunny over here. Always. Karl the fog got real drunk in a Potrero Hill pub this one time and tried to make out with a bartender. He’s been too embarrassed to come back ever since. Anyways, there are eggs and bagels and bananas and coffee and champagne to be consumed. So I’m going to pass Chris Stivers’ laptop around to all the NPSF-ers here and see if we can’t get a little poem going line by line — NPSF-er by NPSF-er. Do not blame me for what comes out next.
There once was a man from Potrero
He had come in search of a sombrero
He got one from a girl
And took it for a whirl
And ended up on Embarcadero
Upon Embarcadero he sat
Brandishing the brim of his hat
He ran up the hill
Oh what a thrill!
NPSF is where it’s at
FECK YA NPSF.
See you in Fort Mason…. Monday… 6.30am!!!
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