don't take the cannoli

I'm tired. it's Sunday night and I've spent the (lovely) day walking around lovely San Francisco with two lovely, lovely Germans.
I took them to Glide, and then to Puerto Allegre for lunch, after which we walked all over the Mission (after all, where else would tourists want to go?) and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. There was some brief napping, followed by dinner at Chow, and a brisk walk over to Castro (after all, where else would a straight tourist couple want to go?), and then we were just worn out. being a tourist is really hard work, especially with the jet lag.
We stopped at 826 Valencia, a place I've visited a number of times in the last month (Karl and I are getting to know one another intimately), and I bought a copy of McSweeney's 7 (hurray! hurray!), which I've wanted for a while. I've just been fondling each little booklet, reading the first page or two of each, admiring...
and now I'm too full to go to sleep. I've only myself to blame. I didn't need to eat that cannoli.