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As dusk fell on the Tenderloin Thursday night, crowds of thirtysomethings in flat-billed caps and flannel shirts spilled out onto the sidewalks, sipping plastic cups of orange wine or tall boys bought from corner stores. They strolled the streets between galleries, popping into modest storefronts converted into art spaces. Some were shopping, others were there to support their friends and absorb the work of the artists among them: abstract landscapes, erotic Polaroids, rugs tufted in the shape of men’s underwear, cityscapes in pastels.

Before First Thursdays in San Francisco became synonymous with parties and downtown hoedowns , a city project tha

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