Maybe you took a four-day weekend and drove up the coast, got a welcome reminder of the landscape that's so close, yet seems so far from the city for reasons that must have to do with brain maps and the incongruities of such dramatic shifts in topography. Maybe you saw a whale spout hundreds of feet below you as you drove home down Route 1, still a little sluggish from all that beef and Beefeater, while fields of grass undulated all around. Maybe you spent the weekend cleaning house, went to a friend's roof for a barbecue, ran into an ex and found out you can actually be civil with each other now, almost cool even. Or maybe you raged all weekend in a rented house in Tahoe, or Calistoga, or Big Sur. But now it's gone, that time past, the sad unpacking still left to finish, and the goddamn sun still won't come out because San Francisco is just like that, and it even has the gall to drizzle rain today. Whatever. It's almost time for lunch.