A few summers ago, my mother, her two sisters (my aunts, of course), and I went on a wonderful trip to explore San Francisco. Staying in an large city in California will certainly keep your pockets light, so my mother found an amazing hotel for an amazing price in an amazing little city named Tiburon.

I want to live in a town such as Tiburon some day. It's tiny. It's beautiful. It's quaint. The people of the town bustle to work and school by way of ferry boat that travels straight to San Francisco. And at the respective pick-up times there are cars with mothers or fathers, and wives or husbands, and brothers or sisters parked by the waterfront waiting to pick up their loved ones.
There's a small stretch of shops and restaurants. There's a pizzeria to die for.
The children of the town travel down on their skateboards and bicycles from the homes atop steep California hills, and eat ice-cream at the shop where the server knows all of their names.

I want to take you there.