imperfections by the shore

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getting back into the rhythm of city life after a whirlwind two-week escape to california. still finding that i'm digesting the bits and pieces of these trips that were important to me while also trying to hold onto the tiny bit of zen i rediscovered. these pictures are from a beautiful saturday afternoon spent at fisherman's wharf in san francisco - talk about a picture perfect day: weather was in the 70s, blue skies and wispy clouds scattered about, and our lunch of unforgettably delicious fish & chips and fish tacos.

currently digging into murakami's kafka on the shore, love this excerpt below:

That's why I like listening to Schubert while I'm driving. Like I said, it's because all his performances are imperfect. A dense, artistic kind of imperfection stimulates your consciousness, keeps you alert. If I listen to some utterly perfect performance of an utterly perfect piece while I'm driving, I might want to close my eyes and die right then and there. But listening to the D major, I can feel the limits of what humans are capable of - that a certain type of perfection can only be realized through a limitless accumulation of the imperfect. And personally I find that encouraging.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

lunch at fisherman's wharf

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if you're feeling particularly festive while visiting fisherman's wharf (and let's face it, embracing your inner child and getting into the tourist spirit can just be damn fun) i would recommend trying out the codmother on jones street. i was honestly a little intimidated by the wait & line but man was it worth it! delicious, flakey, cripsy, salty crunchy goodness. find their yelp page here.


late nights & the library at the public

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photos from an easy dinner for two at the lovely library at the public theater. a semi-hidden place to go for a casual and quiet dinner in an otherwise rambunctious neighborhood!


shades of sakura

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details. chanel bag. rag & bone skirt. acne studios coat. proenza schouler boots. tom ford sunglasses.

every one of us is losing something precious to us. lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back again. that’s part of what it means to be alive. but inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. a room like the stacks in this library. and to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. we have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. in other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”

– Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore