The Most Impotant Letter of Them All

Emilie Ridley is South African by way of Cape Cod. He attended Evergreen college in the late 70s, where he experimented with acid in a polygamist tribe before moving to San Francisco to open a biodegradable dog kennel business. He has been here ever since. This is his story…

Deciding I needed a reprieve from the neighbourhood gang crew spraying their stiffy doodles upon my doorpost, I wangled into my pleated shorts and hopped the ferry to bask in the sun of refined and tidy Sausilito.

After attending several houseboat open houses, I strolled back onto the ferry, energized from the clean air and a brilliant sunset.

Imagine my dismay, then, when I am greeted with this vista upon my return to this ever-viler city:


Is no one aghast at the city's inability to keep the most important letter of them all alight? For what do I pay my tax dollars? So that Johnny B. Feelgood might shoot up on the city's dime? 

Meanwhile, how do I explain to my 5 year old niece (were I to have a niece, I imagine her as 5) what “Pot” is and why so many gritty knucksters are giggling and snapshotting this grotesque oversight of public funds?

A new low in a city set on sinking ever deeper.

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Neon has long been recognized as the only type of light bulb with a sense of humor.