san francisco, san francisco

san francisco, san francisco, you're a muttering bum in a brown beat suit -jack kerouac

we have left los angeles for a trip to the home i left home for back in the 90s (after college in philadelphia)

I left a tiny, tiny piece of my heart here- maybe I didn't, maybe that kind of love is not love but is something else that feeds the bad stuff that you shuffle off when you get to a certain age

but what I do know, other than that everybody knows everything, is that the panhandle smells of eucalyptus and even on a hot day in the Haight the fog will come in a like a chilly comforting blanket

I don't think I left my heart here- I think I found it.