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The first time I felt an earthquake was a few months after moving to California in 2013. My boyfriend and I were watching TV when the room rumbled. I turned to him and said, in all seriousness, “Well, that was one heckuva large truck!” He stared at me for a beat, then calmly explained that we lived in such a large apartment building that there wasn’t a truck large enough to move our couch. That, my dear, was an earthquake.
In the years since, I’ve learned a thing or two about earthquakes. At least, I can identify if I’m in…
Celebrating the free-wheeling spirit of the Bay Area — one sentence at a time.