tenderloin

In July, walking around the fifty blocks of the Tenderloin, San Francisco’s fentanyl epicenter, I often saw notes like this one posted on lampposts: “Mimi—5’, 100 lbs.—we miss you terribly. Please call any family member. Please call 202 [number].” The Mimis are often hidden in tents, but even for a first-time visitor like me, the dealers and their deals were highly visible. Dealers, often teenagers in clean Nikes, walked alongside potential buyers. They did not just stand at particular corners, as a great streaming television series based in Baltimore, The Wire, showed: These dealers floated up and down a block. Police say they are independent contractors, trying to establish their own clientele, and earning $300 or more on an average Read More ›

This column is the second in a series. To read part one, click here. I’ll come back to the sights and sounds of the Orange County Rescue Mission, but after four days there I flew to San Francisco and walked around that city. The old song notwithstanding, few Americans these days leave their hearts there. Tourists still visit Fisherman’s Wharf and ride the cable cars, but books with titles like San Fransicko hit hard, and videos of addicts in SF’s Tenderloin neighborhood are stomach-churning. What’s happening in San Francisco is both better and worse than those dramatic presentations. The Noe Valley neighborhood, for instance, features Victorian houses, small markets, and cafes. Nearby Bernal Heights (sometimes referred to as “maternal heights”) Read More ›