do i miss frisco?

do i miss golden gate park and the bridge and the other bridge and the other bridge and the burritos

and stepping over homeless dudes with needles still in their arms

and cold summers and zero rock scenes and no parking

and cable cars and the n judah and the 26 mission and f market

and the highest rents in the whole wide world

and lower haight and upper richmond and barting to the east bay

and flying into a cloudy soupy grey bump in a log

and sailing among white caps

and kissing irish girls and being amazed by marin and the redwoods and sea lions and fair weather niner fans

and smelling weed everywhere

and smoking weed everywhere

and kissing the truest everywhere

and the dot com startups and the tech bubble start ups

and the silicon valley start ups who can do everything except

recreate soul.

do i miss the asian ppl and the tourists and the mexican kids and the three remaining hippies and the tenderloin and the 500 club and the midtown and the italians and the playgrounds that are all fenced in and the hills and the tall buildings on the hills

and the way the grass looked blue cuz of the shrooms we ate on divis so we walked and walked

do i miss the walking or the ugliest beach in all the land or how they said the presidio would not be sold to the highest bidder but to the poor and the non profits and the charities, but alas

do i miss the sourdough and chinatown and begging a chinese girl on a date for a kiss and when she finally delivers saying meh

right to her pretty face

do i miss the street fairs and amoeba and the gay ppl and surprise flowers growing in the weirdest little places

and victorian after victorian after victorian

and giant churches and little churches

and little shops beneath the stairs?


jk. hella.

zulieka goes on a 9 hour first date

At a coffee shop somewhere in Cambridge, I sit between a nerdy math whiz filling up piles of graph paper with hieroglyphics alla Good Will Hunting, and a society of three overweight girls who are knitting. I text “towards the back, red shirt” and kizmet56 takes a seat across from me. He looks barely 20, is rosy-cheeked and smooth-skinned and dressed like a Harvard asshole in a Polo dress shirt. He is so nervous he can’t train his sloe-eyed blue eyes on me, and it seems to me he might have Tourette’s. Ten minutes into the conversation, I think God, this dude might be a virgin.

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