this next world.

with my left arm baked to an uneven farmer's tan by the setting sun all along highway five, i pull into the bay area to the welcomed relief of cooler temperatures and cleaner air. having paid my fare - three dollars - to cross the bridge, i drive up the incline which fifteen years ago, collapsed under the wrath of loma prieta. scanning through the local radio stations, most of which i had forgotten over the course of my college years in los angeles, i pause at live 105(.3), my attention piqued by system of a down's haunting tunes. as "lost in hollywood" fills my car with its eeirie moans and biting lyrics, on the other end of the bridge, san francisco's unmistakable skyline crowds the tiny penninsula, while a thick white wooly band of fog in the back is kept at bay by nothing more than a few low hills. rolling over neat little rows of bightly colored gingerbread houses, the heavy cotton-candy spills over the lip of the hills like dry ice. through my speakers, the final lingering line, you should have never trusted hollywood, brings a satisfying smile to my face. you tell 'em, system of a down, says the radio jockey as soon as the song finishes, so-cal sucks. after a five year hiatus, broken here and there by a spattering of trips back up for most major winter and spring holidays, i am finally back in the eccentric little city of my birth for good, and it was time to get reacquainted with home.

it is an odd thing, but every one who disappears is said to be seen at san francisco.
it must be a delightful city, and possess all the attractions of the next world.
: wilde.