Sometimes, I hate San Francisco

Its heart is cold, its true, like any other city. And it will take the heat from yours. The friction of strangers only leaves burns. The rent will gut you. The ornate cornices and fluttering vermin will chase the loneliness, in the city of gold. The young women don't believe in love, the young men chase 51 ways to erotically throttle shadows in the alleyways. Madmen have stopped uttering prophesies, they are chided for the carbon footprint of their shopping carts, and the rich women carve identical tattoos to name themselves in the tribe of defiance. i scuttle to the four corners of my single bedroom, the light filtered through the barbed wire outside my window, the air through a hundred years of stale piss. i eat half a burrito everyday and wonder why my friends frown so much.