The Year of the Facebook
These were the days when everyone was still beautiful, and we were all still rich. The things big bubble-pop doomsayers kept predicting hadn’t happened yet, and Facebook was on top of everything else. It was just firing. And firing. And firing. Even the misses–Paper and Home and Poke–seemed like they didn’t matter because its hits were so vital. And with the wind at its back, the fog of war blew away from its eyes and into those of its enemies. It seemed like only Mark could see clearly.
It was the day of the F8 conference, where developers and press got together to hear the new gospel according to Mark. I walked to the convention center, past the big Google bus stop on 8th street where tired techies lounged on their phones for the long ride to Mountain View. I stepped into the street to see if the city bus was approaching, and almost put my toe in a pile of human feces. There were homeless people and other desperate types all around, and remembering this I pocketed my phone, which I had been staring down at as I hoofed it. Whatever. It was a gorgeous day and I didn’t mind the walk.
