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My American family live in the Mission district of San Francisco. I love it - when you walk down the street it feels like you're in the pages of a Richard Scarry book. There is a saloon car on the corner with a cop leaning on each side of it, one talking through the window to the driver, their cop car parked behind; there is a man with an ice cream trolley; a big, shiny, and very long, San Francisco Fire Dept truck gliding down the street, a big blue and yellow cement mixer truck, mixing cement; a nail boutique, an ice cream parlour, a cafe, a shop that cashes your cheques, one that buys gold for cash, a deli, a hairdresser, a garage that will fix your brakes, a nursery. But I have not yet spotted Lowly Worm.
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