I learned that the hostel I stayed in was located in the tenderloin, and one night I walked back there from the mission district around 11:30 pm.
I'll try writing more of my experiences tomorrow, but I think tonight I want to go to sleep.... with a soft pillow.
Oh yeah, and on the flight back I read she's not there by Jennifer Boylan... It's one of those transgendered coming of age memoirs, by a writer/english professor.
It seems one of the common themes among many transgendered people, especially among the ones who transition later in life is that though you can try running from your life as hard as you want, it's still your life and you're still going to have to deal with it.
Though now I wonder if someone is running from their life and hiding from having to experience themselves, they aren't really living life, but since they're not dead, they must be trapped somewhere betwixt life and death... So are those frightened of their lives, undead (or is unalive a better name?)