It is 5.50am in San Francisco’s historic North Beach district and all is quiet. This is the place made famous by giants of American literature, where Jack Kerouac and his pals would party until the early hours picking up inspiration for novels and poetry that would inspire generations. On this Sunday morning nobody is raising hell and the almost-vertical streets lay silent in darkness. Shutters are down at the bars and bohemian clothes stores, as they are at the City Lights bookstore, familiar to millions. But a short stroll up Grant Avenue takes you to Maggie McGarry’s pub, where the light is on and the door is open. Inside, a group of around half a dozen huddle at barstools in front of a television.
Load More
Load More