Ambrose Bierce Street in San Francisco is

Ambrose Bierce Street in San Francisco is not really a street. It's a narrow dead end alley, which seems strangely appropriate. Don Swaim calls it a "rank passageway." Would Bierce

Ever traverse this boulevard whilst sipping mocha cappuccino and pondering the awesomeness of seeing the opera house fully lighted? Don Swaim tried to do just this and vicariously

to take his 100th selfie and post it on his wall. That was some shoddy workmanship ,and he would write an angry email to the makers. If only he knew where

his computer had gone. It was like it had vanished the moment he turned around. "Here, little computer," he cooed, "come on out! Daddy needs to write an angry e-mail!"

But the little computer could no longer bear the venting of his hideous spleen and had crawled into the postman's satchel when he wasn't looking. "Freedom," he thought digitally to

himself, "freedom," he repeated. The computer could not stand it any longer! He had to hide in the postmans satchel, until he could make it to Russia. He had always digitally

examined his friends colons while they slept so as to not embarrass them. The government here took a dim view of that practice. I was emigrating to Russia to find new friends. Wish

Me luck! I hoped that in Russia I could find some friends who were more open-minded, but unfortunately, this was not the case.

Authentic Russian people are ferociously acrobatic and habitually conformist; they tend to look at Americans as obese, opulent, leftist assholes…which is not far from the truth.

Still, we fascinated each other, so we sat together on velvet tuffets & shared borscht, McDonald's french fries, a few blini, hot dogs, & then (after vodka), we shared Tatiana.