The Definition Of Reclusiveness

I remember a place in the space time continuum where I absolutely loved going outside. I loved the way the sun beat warm against my cheeks. The breeze whipping my untucked shirt tail to and fro. The people on the side of the street waving hello as they walked past and I returning their sentiments. That time was long ago, that feeling has died.

I was recently invited to a birthday party at a cafe in the city and I accepted the offer, I did not go. This morning I was invited to go and have breakfast at the same place by another person, again I declined. Why do you ask? Because in my heart I do not like San Francisco. I don't like being judged constantly on what I look like, or what I like and what I don't like. I am used to a place where people mind their own business and don't sit on the sidewalk and crack on people as they walk by.

Don't get me wrong, there are places in the city where people do mind their own business. Sadly the Castro is not one of them. The Castro district is an oversexed oversized cruiser spot with way too many bitchy fags. When I came to this city I was looking for a brotherhood. A place where I would finally belong simply because of the fact that I was a gay man. I didn't find that place. What I found was a crystal meth soaked meat market that completely forgot that most of America hates us and that we need to band together and love each other.I'm not asking you to fuck me. I own a computer, if I get that horny then I will use the internet for what it was invented for, porn and cruising. I would just like a place full of the love that San Francisco itself supposedly once stood for. Sadly though, I think that's too much to ask for.