This Tuesday started like any other, a drowsy morning filled with fumbling around in my Walnut Creek apartment, trying not to wake my sleeping boyfriend as he snored through the morning.  I took my pills and walked into my “beauty room,” the den I’ve converted into a space reserved for

Writer’s Note: This was written right after the NBA Finals after the Warriors lost to the Toronto Raptors. The setting was Local Edition on Market Street in San Francisco. No real names have been used, except for mine. After the sun goes down in San Francisco, Karl the Fog is

Fog races behind me as I hurdle over the Bay Bridge, a car full of belongings clanking around behind the driver’s seat of my 2015 Kia Soul, a car which has the capacity of a small SUV and the length of a sedan. It’s incredible how much of my life

If you are in need of a soundtrack to gray days in San Francisco, employ equally gloomy British rock bands — Babyshambles, Suede, The Smiths — they embody the silent torture of hazy rolling fog. The bands and the fog are doubtful and mysterious, cloaked in sorrow that comes from

While riding BART in the early am of a Monday like any other, Facebook served me an article entitled “Feeling Strapped on a $400,000 income? That’s the Bay Area.” I stared at my tiny computer in my palm in disbelief but not with a sense of surprise. People always complain

The Wanderer follows young writer Tess F. Stevens through different threads of San Francisco culture, experiences, and issues. She hopes to challenge, connect and define some of the things we find difficult to put into words.  The saga of the Muni commute doesn’t end when you get off and head to your destination.

Nobody watches the Grammys anymore right? Television is dead. Music is deader, and anything relevant is on Reddit, right? I found myself watching a real television in a real house with my boyfriend and his parents on Grammy night 2019. As a child, I dreamed of being a rock and