California light shine so bright: Skaters and fakers Bar dwellers and coffee drinkers Walkers and dragon dancers Orchestral maneuvers Down Kerouac Alley. Filbert Steps Break neck steep The evening starts to Creep creep creep, Silhouetting palm trees Sending people hurrying Trying to get in Before the night fall Brings out the creatures Who thrive in the dark Who hunt and hustle And bark at each other While crab pots boil Oyster eaters toil Over shells on Sawdust floors Drinking screwdrivers Pints of guinness Hair of the dog That bit them on The ass last night In some North Beach Bar. None of it survives Until the morning When the City wakes Shakes off the smoke The steam that rises From the sewers And all the desperate Cries of pain and hate And all things that Cities feed on And so live on Way past human Reckoning. Hunter S Thompson's Shirt hangs behind the Bar of the Buena Vista Cafe Bottle of Chivas half full. Cafe Trieste sadly strikes Time day after day. And Beat Poet wannabes Pretend to be sitting With Jack outside Vesuvio wondering How it felt to be On top of a world That sought to destroy Them for everything They believed in.