A book report on backseat taxi-cab manual placards, and the politics of stolen morning hours.

“My life is a cautionary tale,” she said to me, after I only just explained to her the full definition of a cautionary tale, “I don’t see why that doesn’t make me selfless.”
    She slept on a park bench made of concrete, and spent her days in Golden Gate Park heating up rocks in various pits of warm soil and burning coals. The rocks slept beneath the concrete bench that slept beneath her. If you look to your right just after Fell Street becomes Kezar Drive, after midnight, on your way into th...