—Allen Ginsberg, “Howl” “Damn this is good crack. How come nobody ever writes about how good crack is?” “You don’t smoke crack, old fool. That’s a gum-stimulator you’re holding, not a crack pipe.” “I’m gonna tell you a crack story anyhow. Something that happened to me today, Sunday, January something, in the year Y-fuckin’-two-K-plus-two. I’m sitting on a doorstep next to a crackhead woman at the Powell and Market cable car stop. Me there in my Saks corduroys and my shiny leather jacket, waiting for the cable car. Gray-haired and wearing a beret. It’s a cold day and this stone doorstep is the only spot with sun. I’m sitting there in the sun waiting for my wife to come out of Nordstrom’s so we can ride back to North Beach. A festive lark. We’re up in SF for the weekend.” “Who cares?” “Let me tell my story. You’ll care soon enough.
