Noma lived in the Haight, home of the Grateful Dead, of Janis Joplin and the Summer of Love and Joan Didion. As I climbed Haight Street on my bike, a man with a long gray ponytail and tie-dyed sweatshirt crossed the street without looking. I veered around him. A hookah bar was blasting Jefferson Airplane. Outside a corner store, a guy with an acoustic guitar grumbled out a Bob Dylan song in front of a Bob Marley mural. I admire the San Francisco neighborhoods, like the Haight and North Beach, that refuse to change at the same velocity as the rest of the city. San Francisco is always zooming ahead at warp speed, light-years ahead of anywhere else in America, and yet there remain pockets of the city where everyone is content to live decades in the past.