I almost died on January 31, 2004. I contracted pneumonia most likely from living in that piss in the sink hotel I called home. I was happy for that piss in the sink hotel because the other option was homelessness. The Adrian Hotel is located on the corner of Eddy and Hyde Streets in the Tenderloin. It is in a bad part of town, in a type of hotel where I hoped I wouldn't ever have to live. I woke up one morning in that lousy hotel with a very sore shoulder, and felt worse than I ever had. I ended up in the hospital, unconscious for the entire month of February. I didn't realize that my sore shoulder was a symptom of what was going wrong with my lungs. I never felt that shitty before and suspected it might be the end.
I have seriously considered notions of my own death before that evening, including suicide, but faced with an opportunity to end it all I chose to live. Which meant eventually going back to the Adrian Hotel after six long weeks in San Francisco General Hospital. Choosing life also meant that my existence would not end like so many others I knew who were my neighbors, who left in an ambulance and never returned. In addition, I was not going to be one of those individuals that nobody misses for days and days until the rent is due; and the hotel manager is forced to open the door to his or her room to discover they have been dead for a week. So I chose a life of struggle and hardship instead of just giving up the ghost in the face of poverty, drug addiction and despair.
We are lucky to have you in our lives, Serba. I'm in Nevada facing mortality in the wake of my mother's death. I will make a point of inviting you over to my piss in the sink hotel when I return to SF. At least the view from the rooftop is a million-dollar one and I normally don't use the sink for 'that' but I know exactly what you meant. You are a beautiful man and a friend I miss. I've been in the UK for ages but let's do meet up this summer. I am proud to count you among my friends, Love, Bacon
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