San Francisco.

San Francisco used to be the land of counterculture.
Of anti-war demonstrations, of freeing your mind, of experiments in creativity, passion, and love.
Of ripping up the old order and starting anew.
Of music and poetry. Of bare feet on concrete.

Now, San Francisco is a place of vampire CEOs,
transfusing the blood of the young to increase their longevity.
Of robotaxis that will never come.
Of Harvard dropouts getting Brazilian jiu-jitsu makeovers,
then crying about masculinity.

Of blonde-haired, blue-eyed women in turtlenecks,
lying about the prick of a finger,
then playing on your heartstrings.
Don’t you know they are mothers now?
Or at least, soon to be.
Would you drag this mother to prison?

Of Wario, once married to a pop star,
blathering on and on about Shiba Inus,
bitter because his ex-wife left him for a trans woman who served her country—and that bothers him because his daughter, who’s also trans won’t speak to him.
So to cope, he lies about his fantasy avatar’s success in a virtual world then promptly kills that avatar due to sheer incompetence me—and if he can’t manage a video game, how does he manage anything?
And you just know that Wario thinks about Luigi, and Luigi makes him nervous—because no one loves Wario but they love Luigi, and it’s not enough for Wario who have his money—he wants to be loved too.

And now, San Francisco is about preserving the old order,
because new things are scary.

And what about the current children of San Francisco?
Well, I don’t know.
I hope there will be a San Francisco.

Photo credit: artist unknown

@sizz