In San Francisco we had various districts, or neighborhoods. One of these, the Tenderloin, had long held a reputation as a den of iniquity; homelessness, crime, drugs, p**********n, and every other squalid and unsavory condition one could think of. It simply was not a pleasant place to be, but it was a great place to find and kill ghosts. The conditions were ripe for the picking, and for reasons I suspected, but hadn"t confirmed, the more vicious the environment, the more demons I found to kill. The borders were a bit blurry, but in general, there was Nob Hill to the north, Union Square to the east, Civic Center on the west, and finally Market Street attempting to contain it from the south.
Deciding that the Tenderloin was the perfect place to burn off my mental disarray, I first called a
