FIERCE GROWLS OF RECOGNITION

Larkin Street past the driveway where years ago a raccoon had been so publicly grooming its unmentionable parts -- albeit discreetly long after dark, when almost no one was around, and up Pacific to Hyde Street, where two raccoons had waited for the green light ere crossing. That was several years ago, long past midnight, in pitchest dark and howling rain, when all nice people should have been asleep.
No raccoons in daylight.

Nor any place that serves milk-tea. Which is what one really wants.

Something to put one's furry paws around.
Ah, warmth! And milky-milky!

There are not enough fuzzballs between Nob and Russian Hill.
Though of the ones that are here, too many are dogs.
Not so many felines; far too few in fact.
Less raccoons than before.


It's a little lonely out there.


I can hear the code-monkeys howling in their over-priced apartments. The start-up boom has not been kind to San Francisco, wild anthropoids have flocked to the city. They compete with the local wildlife, and pre-emptively raid garbage cans; the e-revolution is no place for animals.
Cold emotionless programming language.
Rude graffiti in HTML.




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