Migrating

I've left Bernal Hill and come home to The Castro, 5 blocks from my roost in 1992, further up Eureka Valley on the northerly slope looking out across 19th, 18th, 17th Streets and up to Red Rocks, Corona Heights. Sutro Tower looms and Diamond Heights hugs the district from the West. The towers The City spike my room's sunrise view; the Bay, Oakland Hills and Mount Diablo mark the East.

San Francisco, feels headed into another boom moment, as it does seemingly once each decade since 1835 -- a Mission, a gold rush, a culture rush, a beat rush, an acid rush, a popper rush, an ACT UP, an Internet, a dot-com bloom, a real estate mania. With each upheaval comes a fruition, a moment when the apple turns ripe and then rotten. The sugars break down and the headache begins.

The last tablet that cured the throb doesn't work and a new drug is sought, found, exploited.