During the seventies nothing was extraordinary in San Francisco because everything was extraordinary.
The rainbow's pot of gold was found on Twin Peaks. It was quite possible.
Aladdin's lantern could be had for the asking. No one doubted it.
Jack's beanstalk had grown to the sky. Stars might be plucked by those who would climb. Was anything more logical?
Foot passengers were warned against stubbing their toes: there was danger of falling upon Comstock quartz projecting from the ground.
The gracious goddess Fortuna dwelt on Tamalpais. Life was too brief and merry to clamber up the sides of the purple mountain. Let Fortuna herself ascend - there were other goddesses to woo.
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