nineteenIt was 2 a.m., “last call” at the numberless watering holes of the City. On Union Street, the upscale fern bars and dance clubs were beginning to close—glasses collected, tables wiped down, chairs set on tables, floors swept and mopped. Their sophisticated clientele, the white collar proles who worked in the tall buildings downtown, began to wobble home—some with those they’d come with, some with those they’d picked up and others, still, with no one at all.
In a sports bar called The Corner, at the intersection of Union and Laguna, the doors were locked, and the bar was closed, but a game of high stakes straight pool had begun, just like in the movies.
“How do you feel, Fast Eddie?”
“Fast and loose.”
“In the gut, I mean.”
“Tight, but good.”
The scene on Castro Street was almo
