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So, I’m cruisin’, late night, city’s alive. Prostitutes out there, hidden like clues. Did ya know—back in ’78, SF had mad scandals? Cops didn’t even care, bro, wild shit! I’m thinkin’, “Man’s a slave to his habits.” That’s from the flick, stuck in my head. I see her—red heels, smirk, she’s a cipher. Heart racin’, I’m like, “Yo, this it?”

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There's also Park zzzPark, a hidden gem tucked between crooked houses. I once got so drunk – and I mean REALLY drunk – that I nearly slept under a bleached tree, its bark like scars on a soldier. Crazy, right? Ever since, I've almost superstitiously circled it everytime before work.