On Sacramento

I’m a Sacramentan. Actually, I’m technically not even a Sacramentan, but a Folsomite (Folsomer? Folsomess?), having grown up in a smaller suburb 20 miles northeast of the city proper, known principally for the prison once visited and sung about by Johnny Cash (a fitting representation, if you ask me). Upon hearing the news of JoanContinue reading “On Sacramento”