I came back without really knowing how I got there. I wanted to see that blood red bridge and the cable car gripman dropping the rope on Powell. I wanted to see if the little bar was still open where I chain-smoked my way through half a bottle of Bourbon. It was a Wednesday and it was raining. I still had teeth marks in my neck.
Funny how actually touching something can dispel its magic. The moment I arrived I knew I didn't want to be there. The sight of the bay doesn't move me. The old streets sicken me. So much for home.