Mission and 20th street...

Is where I told the taxi driver to drop me off. I had thought to go find somewhere where I might listen to some music, dance, flirt, get drunk. I psyched myself out to go out, thinking I'd rather stay in, but I'd been staying in, and committed myself to a weekend of binge-like drinking, dancing, hopefully sex. Anyway, this bubble burst within a block of where I got out of the cab.
"Call 911! My friend is going to die!" says the younger of the two homeless men squating across from Cha Cha Cha! The older of them was writhing on the ground, sort of moaning, but not making much sound, limbs rigid, and twitching, face contorted.
"He took a bottle of pills, and drank too much, he just got out of the hospital, he's sick!"
So I called 911. It was the first time I'd done so from my cell. I didn't realize it would go into an "Emergency Mode."
After the brief assessment questionnaire, the dispatcher told me that she'd send someone. I waited for the ambulance to arrive, couldn't have been much longer than 10 min, then I walked off. Eventually, I saw a firetruck, some squad cars, a few police all milling around after I had gone to get a burrito.
I still went to the Elbo Room, half-heartedly danced, but my night of mindless debauchery was ruined by this guy's suffering and lack of self-control...and I am glad.