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In the Tenderloin

O'Farrell street swarms with hookers and jumpy crack addicts.

It is thick with Latino pushers and hustlers on the make for a

tanked up queen to roll.


A night walk through the Tenderloin is like a hit of

speed and I have always preferred the danger of

the street to the insidious betrayals of deluded white-

collar slaves who think that sixty thou a year job makes

them nobility.


Greed is such an easy tool.


A man will sell his son

to the 'all volunteer' Army if he thinks it will get

him in good with the master.


We make no empty promises to each other on the streets.


I will cut the first person that threatens me.


I will do it instantly and everyone knows this from

the look on my face.


A frightened savage is a kind of innocent.


The Junkies of the Tenderloin do not lie very well.


This may be why they are junkies in the Tenderloin and not

junkies for Price-Waterhouse.


When you score from a street whore you never have to pretend

that you think he is honest. He'll screw you and you'll pay and

no one fakes pride in the transaction.


As one nears Market and Jones, the street becomes thick with

people who want to know "What's up?"


What is your choice of the sordid pleasures left to you?


Folks say to me, 'Bob, why you out here when you talk so good?

You could be working downtown!'


Yeah...I could be working downtown.


But I hate hypocrites. I can't think of nothin'

I hate more than a bible thumping double talking

mush mouthed hypocrite.


They shred my soul.


The honest squalor of poverty is ultimately safer

than the sad delusions a middle class whose lives

are even more expendable than a junkie's. .


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Taken on October 19, 2011