‘Bro! Bro! Bro! You want an all-meat sandwich?” The guy with the sandwich is exactly what you are picturing when you picture a guy who says “Bro! Bro! Bro!” — baseball cap, vape pen, in the company of two women producing a slightly less civilized cloud of cigarette smoke — and the object of his benevolence is one of San Francisco’s many addled street people, who accepts the sandwich and waits patiently as his new best friend, Lord Chancellor Sammich, magnanimously explains to him the contents, which are mostly, all within hearing range are assured, beef pastrami. “There might …
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