A stupid question

A few hours before Folsom Street Fair began, Jade put some needles in my back and plugged each one with a miniature cork. I put on a hoodie—it was a chilly September morning in San Francisco—and we walked through the Tenderloin to SoMa, where the police barricades had gone up the night before. By 11 am, the clouds had faded. It was warm enough that I could comfortably stroll around in little more than a pair of Mr. S-branded neoprene shorts.

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