AMORPHOUS BLOB TIME

The tourist season is always a joy in this city. Piles of Midwesterners and Europeans cluster near the cablecar end points, shivering in their shorts and tee-shirts because they thought that San Francisco at the end of May would be warm, summery and Californian. They were wrong. They also cower in terror from the hordes of zombies, tech industry hipsters, and drug-addled liberals shooting themselves up with massive doses of fentanyl, all giddy up on communisms and wokeness. Keen to eat 'em as side dishes at a gay vegan banquet.

Raw. Because unprocessed is good.

Naturally havested tourist.

Fat and well-marbled.

Crispy frozen.

The San Francisco tourist industry, as is well-known, is run entirely by drag queens keen to read fairy tales to your innocent young children. It's like a glee-club on crack.

Like most actual residents of this town I am not despondent over the closures of several Union Square merchants. Who the hell shops at Old Navy anyhow? But I know several suburbanites who are heartbroken.

Same goes for a lovely Chinatown venue where no locals ever go, much beloved among the out-of-town crowd. Soon to be evicted because they owe over three million in back rent. It's been described as a slice of Fisherman's Wharf with a Far Eastern theme, specially grown for the kwailo. It's so special, white person, you should go there (and leave my favourite snacky hole-in-the-wall alone).

My apartment mate, a person of Chinese ancestry, sneered loudly when I mentioned the place. Apparently the wife of a friend (also Chinese ancestered) had the same reaction. None of us have ever been to the place because the prices are way higher than we're used to. There are two or three other venues with expensive decor and fancy plates that are also for those people, which we've never patronized.

The second language of many people here is Bronx cheering.

Perhaps I should mention that the favourite Thai place of several of my coworkers when I still worked downtown was patronized almost entirely by suburbanite office workers. Who are probably HEARTBROKEN over what has happened to the city. They also favoured California Pizza Kitchen, by the way. Which is a Fishermanswharfian approach to pizza.
Funhouse, carnival ride, glitter up.


The real tragedy among all the retail closures down town is the disappearance of a good place for army surplus and Converse All Stars. As well as baggy overcoats suitable for perverts stalking innocent Mid-Western young Christians lost in the San Francisco fog. Because they strayed too far from their budget motel on Lombard Street.
While feasting on crabs and sourdough.



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