A few hours before Folsom Street Fair began, Jade slid about 20 needles into my back and plugged them with miniature corks. 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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