By Chloe Roth
Dolores Park is a prime spot for many activities: basking in the sunshine, finding dates, judging people, smoking and drinking in public, hitting nappers in the head with Frisbees, fraternizing with the locals, feeling claustrophobic, and becoming more attractive (see below). First and foremost is sunshine, of which the rainy months and desk jobs have robbed many SF residents. The exodus to Dolo Park usually begins when the first rays of sun break through the fog, but the true swarm takes place on the first days of summer. Certain contingents (we could call them “the gentrifiers”) arrive looking like the undead: wan, anemic, and skeletal. But by August, Dolores Park has worked its magic: tank top tans have transformed them from “almost-see-through” to a sallow shade of “slightly-less-pale” and little beer bellies round out their skinny frames.
A couple weeks ago, however, it seemed that all this Dolo magic might be coming to a temporary halt.
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