As I drove across the bridge that I had crossed many times, I was blinded by millions of lights. Some were colorful; others twinkled; however, the brightest lights were the ones in my eyes. Even though I had traveled this way before, the feeling that reaches my heart is always the same. The feeling of warmth, no matter how cold, and the feeling of excitement invade my body like a virus. Even though this is not my home, when I drive over that bridge, I feel like I have just walked into my grandmother's house on Christmas Day, to find the oven full of chocolate chip cookies. I enjoy meeting new people, traveling and the excitement of everyday activities. That is why I enjoy visiting San Francisco. .
Over the years, I have realized that I love cities with movement. When there is no movement, there is no life. As I was walking around the city movement from people of all races, colors and sizes. I was not in a bad part of town, however, some of the people I saw would make me think otherwise. One older woman in particular, who was of Mexican decent and had a heavy build, was wearing a tight, red dress with matching high- heels. She had on way too much make-up, and her hair was falling in her face. I am not sure where she was going, but she was trying to get there in a hurry. She kept looking at her watch; I assumed she was late for an appointment or a party. She did not really fit in on the street; however, no one was paying her any attention. It seemed to me that even though she was dressed differently, she was still accepted in a strange way. As the woman ran out of my sight, I was drawn to a fair- skinned, younger man, with long, brown, braided hair that lay in the middle of his back. At first I did not notice the man's hair because his outfit was enticing. I am not sure, but he certainly acted, if pink was his favorite color. As he stepped out of his black Mercedes Benz, his light pink pants and pink shirt caught my eyes.