after three years in the skyscraper shadows, the ratty abandoned lots bordering tech-money opulence, the soul-wringing poverty and relentless ambulance scream of it all, I saw my first San Franciscan skunks. As in plural. As in of them. As in black-and-white and bounding across the street, their tails lush and large, their pointy snouts pointing them ever deeper into the great adventure of Being. Maybe I cried a few joyful expletives, or maybe I wet myself a thimble’s blur.
