Vlae, indeed, SF is changing even as I tap these keys. I arrived in 1973 (from NJ) with $80 in my pocket, didn’t know a soul, but was determined to make a life here as a writer. Bohemia was still somewhat alive, though fading fast. And yes, over the years I’ve watched the best of minds forced out. Greed rode roughshod over the art/music/writing scene . . . no need to recite the details in this echo chamber. I made choices that helped me stay and achieve not exactly what I hoped for, but a reasonable facsimile. I feel for the young people who can’t do it the way I did back when—tech industry (and population explosion) is a problem and it needs to be involved in fixing the issues. But oh my god, I am in as much in love with this city as I was forty-six years ago. Something of it endures, some je ne sais quoi, and everyday I bike the Golden Gate, or dip in the Bay or walk its neighborhoods (gave up my car!), breathe its fog, encounter its eccentrics, I thank the gods that I can still feel and experience that ineffable sanfrancisco-ness.

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A faint rainbow over the Golden Gate

Author(ity) in/on San Francisco. Novel, essay, memoir. Teaches tango. Travel, outdoors, culture. Former editor at VIA Mag.

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