A blood meridian embraces the appendages of the San Francisco skyline. Appendages which arose from the concrete, whose flesh began to splinter and glisten with the blood of impoverished labor and whose sores and open flesh caked with the pus of the blue-red splatter of SFPD tours the city in its attempt in enforcing its vagrancy. Labor coagulated like pools of blood amongst cheap lead-painted Victorians and shuttered hotel rooms with vacancy signs teased the infinite jest of the potential for vacancy when in fact it was merely a sign from the 70s that the Chinese owners refused to maintain.