The last sunny Sunday that I spend calling the Castro home, and this is what I get as a goodbye? It's only fitting -- the flag must be at half mast in mourning. Or maybe it's me who's in mourning...I sure am going to miss those giant macaroons from Hot Cookie (you know which ones I'm talking about), the endless supply of lube and condoms, and the late night drunken domestic disputes below my window. Hell, I'll even miss the sea of middle-aged nudists on display in Harvey Milk Plaza from time to time. The Castro has been a colorful home to me the last year and a half. When I leave with my Uhaul truck in tow, I'll imagine Dorothy in drag as she waves goodbye, standing tall in her size 12 red rhinestone pumps and singing, "There's no place like home [especially in the Castro]!"
Monday, June 13, 2011
Hail to the poo
The last sunny Sunday that I spend calling the Castro home, and this is what I get as a goodbye? It's only fitting -- the flag must be at half mast in mourning. Or maybe it's me who's in mourning...I sure am going to miss those giant macaroons from Hot Cookie (you know which ones I'm talking about), the endless supply of lube and condoms, and the late night drunken domestic disputes below my window. Hell, I'll even miss the sea of middle-aged nudists on display in Harvey Milk Plaza from time to time. The Castro has been a colorful home to me the last year and a half. When I leave with my Uhaul truck in tow, I'll imagine Dorothy in drag as she waves goodbye, standing tall in her size 12 red rhinestone pumps and singing, "There's no place like home [especially in the Castro]!"
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