So Long, San Francisco

Today the eldest leaves San Francisco and takes his heart and soul, his bicycle and his helmet, which, God willing, he wore more than once, with him. What it comes down to is this: He just couldn't stay away from his mother. Last night, I verified his position, so you shouldn't think I was making it up. "Yes, Mother. I'm moving back just to be with you," he said. "Sure, San Francisco is a great city, with its hills and fresh ocean breezes and countless gourmet opportunities for a raving foodie such as myself." "Go on." "But Mother?" "Yes, Son." "Mother, the thought of being without you for another second hurts on a level I can't begin to describe." "Try, my son. Try." "Don't pressure me." "I'm waiting." "It hurts physically, spiritually, psychologically and, of course, gastronomically." "As well it should, my son. I can't be the only one suffering in this scenario." "Why not?" "Cuz I said so." "Makes perfect sense, Mother." "Thank you. And the fact that you and the lovely one, the pretty gal, are moving in with us, permanently, well, that's just icing on the babka." "What the @#$% is a babka?" "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you." "Fair enough, Mother. But there's one slight correction I need to make." "What would that be? And please, be careful with your words. You know how easily I bruise." "Tell me about it." "No, you tell me." "Okay, Mother. We're only moving in with you till we find an apartment." "So, a year from now?" "No, Mother. A month at the most." "But you'll live in Sherman Oaks, right?" "Uh, no." "Studio City?" "Nope." "Then where, for @#$%'s sake, and I say that with an extra helping of guilt?" "Somewhere on the Westside. Who knows? Maybe Beverly Hills adjacent." "I know the perfect place for you, my son." "Go on, Mother." "It's at the intersection of Put A Knife In My Heart and Don't Worry, I'll Be Fine. It's a lovely tree-lined lane littered with my tears." "The moving truck just pulled up, Mother." "I bet it did." "See you Friday." "Not if I see you first."