What’s the Name of the Game — the city when I arrived in 1989. There was much sex to be had, in the bars —Gimmee, Gimmee, Gimmee a Man After Midnight. You could find —Fernando — in the Mission, good for street weed, and the — Dancing Queen — was in a Castro club. Thank You for the Music — hawked in bins in Amoeba Records on Haight, but few foresaw the prophecy in — Winner Takes It All — and next on the spindle — Money Money Money. Waterloo — spun.

And the Age of Empire began. For at the well, the thirst was stocked with more thirst for more, and more, until the well was so deep, not even an echo of the past could escape it, not a sound of then or that which was; perhaps the wretched wail of a street drunk, crawling along the sidewalk, parched with bladder on empty. Here, listen, Abba has a song for you too— S.O.S.