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San Francisco won the World Series.  Whoo.  Yay.  Considered me as thrilled for the home team as it is possible for a gay man completely uninterested in sports to be.

Celebrations of the win around town turned into the widely expected teeny tiny riots.  Dozens arrested, people stabbed or shot, small-ish bonfires hither and yon (and by “yon” I mean the middle of Mission Street.)

Even the Castro, our gay epicenter, was not immune, but much more tastefully.  Secret Agent Fred and I were down there about midnight (long story, let’s just leave it at we were down there.)  Toilet paper streamers crumpled onto the street everywhere.  I’ve been saying for years how the Castro has been dwindling as Gaylandia, but last night, perhaps, just perhaps, gave me pause as we heard someone screaming “Christina!, Christina!  Clean up this mess.” And plenty of people apparently got the joke.  Maybe there’s life in the old girl yet.

Before: streamers artfully strewn.
After: crap in the street.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

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