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.