und1sk0 | needle in the hay

i've known this for quite sometime, but looking at the rain outside and listening to elliott smith i am reminded that his "hit song" is about scoring dope, presumably just south of union square (6th and powell, do they even intersect?)..

i remember walking past soup lines and the smell of piss and dust along 7th street toward howard to visit someone at ozonam detox; squalid but clean, institutional grey and felon orange painted concrete floors--converted loading dock turned voluntary drunk tank. smoking newport cigarettes, blowing smoke into the wind, hearing blue tarp bleat against mounds of dirt where one or another stalled condominium construction site lay awaiting funds that would likely never come.

how san francisco manages to run in spite of itself and its corrupt or inept institutions amazes me; its like a big, concrete machine that runs on sheer will (good or otherwise), and tofu tacos.

delerious and drunk the other morning i wanted back into the city's arms. but the circumstances allowing my return now are improbable and my self-destruction upon returning very probable. but self-destruction was never a problem for me with no roots to sever and no bridges to burn.