Tweet Today’s post is by contributing writer Feliciano Vera: I had never been to Portrero Hill. The view to the east, across the Bay towards Oakland, was nothing short of breathtaking. Framed as it was by the deep inset windows and aromas of Plow, against a foreground of artisanal sausage, almond pancakes, hipsters and software developers, it almost made me cry. And then Kelley interrupted my reverie: “So, when are you moving here?” “Trust me. This isn’t making my decision to stay any easier.” I responded. My son lives across the Bay in Oakland. With no girlfriend or wife, and…
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