In the deep, sweltering density of the Tenderloin, which is not so much a geographic coordinate as it is a collision of ghosts and neon, the social fabric does not merely fray but is systematically shredded, ripped asunder by a High-Octane Fuel of transit and a new, virulent Epidemic of Entitlement that moves with the cold, unblinking velocity of an e-bike. It is a Lethal Friction born of those who arrive—those “country MF” transients and newcomers with the “open-range” eyes of men who have never known the claustrophobia of a city block—treating the gasping urban core like a private paddock, a dog park without fences, a racetrack without a finish line.

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