The sun sets lightly on the surface of the water. Bridges strung over the Bay, festooned with lights and traffic, anchored on floating islands of green and fog. Rain drums on the hills, roads like seams in the fabric of the cities, monumental entrances to underground train stations yawning in brick and glazed tiles.
There is a smart, pert tilt to the head of the urbane set here. Glory comes packaged with lip gloss and activist literature, at least in the circles I've passed through. The light of the setting sun casts sheets of bronze on the reflective surfaces of the skyscrapers and the arches. Even the grime in the streets show unsuspected depths in this light.